


for endings are where we begin

by Grevling



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pushing Daisies Fusion, But it's okay, F/F, Necromancy, emma starts off dead, kind of, she gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grevling/pseuds/Grevling
Summary: Regina Mills is your average working mom - she spends long hours at her bakery, loves her son Henry with all that she is, and can touch dead things and bring them back to life.Emma Swan is an orphan, an ex-convict, and a bailbondsperson residing in Massachusetts. She is also currently dead.This is the story of how they meet.
  [a Pushing Daisies AU]





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DitchingNarnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DitchingNarnia/gifts).



> First and foremost, this fic absolutely would not exist if it weren't for Mari, Aimee, and Lauren, who have bullied, talked, reassured, and cajoled me into writing by turns, and who have been marvelously supportive and amazing friends. I love you.
> 
> This is also for Swati, my parter in crime and a terrible influence. I can't believe we actually pulled this off. 
> 
> And to the gal pals (and Spark) - you're so great, and I'm so glad to have you in my life. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, and that it makes sense even if you've never seen Pushing Daisies.

* * *

 

  
_Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again._  
_―C.S. Lewis_

 

* * *

 

You think you’ve heard this story before, I’m sure - once upon a time, Kings and Queens, magic and fate, tales as old as time itself. You may even know that it involves a fairy godmother, maybe a talking animal or two, and a kiss as we fade to black with the promise of Happily Ever After.

The story you are about to hear is nothing like those tales you hold so dear. In this story, there is no such guarantee.

You see, Regina Mills, the magical little girl, did not develop the ability to talk to animals, or heal, or have impractically long hair. Her gift wasn’t given to her by a fairy godmother or a wizard in disguise. It just _was_ \- a fact of her existence that she could no more change than she could turn back time.

And the facts were these: Regina had the ability to reverse death.

One touch, and she could bring back anyone, or any _thing_ that had died: rotten fruit regained their color and plumpness in her hand, the deceased sat up and talked after one touch from her finger.

Young Regina had first discovered her gift when her beloved pet cat, Dinah, was found dead in the back garden one frosty January morning, the apparent victim of a badly-judged leap from tree to roof. Being a practical child, and knowing that her mother would want as little to do with Dinah in death as she did in life, Regina set about taking care of the problem herself.

Regina was small, even for her ten years, and fetching the shovel from the gardener’s toolshed and carving a large enough grave from the frozen earth took longer than she expected. Her hands kept slipping on the too-large handle, and her shaking arms could only break the soil in slow, agonizing chips. By the time she was ready to put Dinah in her final resting place, her face was sticky with dried tears, and her hands were red and aching from the cold. Her stiff fingers slipped on the bundling cloth as she shifted Dinah in her arms, and her hand brushed against fur as she fumbled to catch her again.

A shock went through her as she felt the form in her arms suddenly shift as Dinah picked her head up and leapt free from the cloth.

Shaking with cold and confusion, young Regina could only stare as Dinah purred up at her, showing no signs of being as cold and still as she had been in Regina’s arms just a moment before. Dinah twined once, twice around Regina’s pants-clad legs before disappearing up the tree again, brush with death evidently forgotten.

Neither she nor Regina noticed the bluebird fall, untouched, from the branches and onto the frozen ground below. For, you see, there was a price for young Regina’s gift, as there are for all forms of magic.

Regina, as it would come to pass, learned them in the most unfortunate way.

The first she would learn that evening, after her mother came home to find Regina covered in dirt and staring blankly out at the now-purposeless hole she had dug in the garden. Muttering under her breath about disobedient children, and ignoring all of Regina’s protestations otherwise, she had scrubbed and scrubbed at Regina’s filthy hands under water that was much too hot, and sent her to bed without dinner.

Dinah, sensing as she always did when Regina was sad, leapt up into the bed with her, padding softly up the covers until she could curl up on Regina’s chest. The soothing heat of her body warmed Regina even through the comforter between them. Stretching out, Dinah rubbed her forehead across the fabric of Regina’s pajamas, kneading her paws insistently on the comforter. Regina reached up to scratch along the side of Dinah's chin where she liked it best, a smile threatening to crack through her sour mood.

But the moment Regina's hand touched fur, Dinah suddenly went as stiff and cold again as she had been that afternoon, falling back against Regina's chest, unmoving.

Regina sat up, horrified, and reached out a tentative hand to brush against Dinah’s fur, but nothing happened. No spark, no sudden rush of warmth and life. She tried again, petting down Dinah’s back and up her tail, sobs that she had held in all day rushing out of her in choking gasps as she frantically tried to will Dinah back to life again, tears dampening her cold fur as she held her close.

Her mother would find her there, that night, smooth her hair off her head with a touch gentler than she’d shown Regina in years, and whisper these fateful words: “Oh my dear,” her voice weaving a spell over Regina as she lay there in the dark, “I have so much to teach you.”

But of course, young Regina had already learned one of the most important rules about her powers - touch a dead thing once, life, but touch it twice, and it’s dead again. Forever.

She would learn many more things over the years, about power and magic and restraint, and, most importantly, how to please and appease her mother.

But the second rule of her powers she would not learn until it was much, much too late.

 

* * *

 

However, that is a story for another day, because right now it is twenty eight years, two months, twelve days, and eighteen hours after that fateful night, and Regina Mills, the magical girl, has become Regina Mills, the baker, who is also Regina Mills, the mother of ten-year-old Henry Mills.

Henry was a boy who was not born into Regina’s life, but chosen. Adopted to help soothe the aches of a life lived in isolation, he soon became the center of her world. And for ten years, that was enough. Life was warm kitchens and bedtime stories and flour dusting the tip of his nose.

But, as always, what is good cannot always last, and young Henry discovered something that was supposed to remain hidden. He learned too much, and understood too little.

This is where our story begins.


	2. Chapter One

In the small town of Storybrooke, with its quaint homes and shops, there were not many people. What it did have, in spades, were a great many tales to be told.

For example, here we can see a woman reuniting with her true love after a long separation. And here, a young couple, kept apart by warring families, kissing in secret as one girl brushes the other’s hair behind her ear. Across town, a blind woman writes music for a deaf man to play, and in a house on the hill, a woman learns that the monster inside of her is nothing to be feared, but rather a power to be harnessed.

However, the story we care about lives in the heart of town, in a bakery called _The Mill_ , which is known in equal measure for its delicious pastries and its terrifying proprietor.

It’s just after four o’clock in the afternoon, and Regina Mills is wiping the extra flour off the countertop when she hears the bells over the front door jingle. Eyes brightening, she grabs a plate from the warmer and shoulders her way through the kitchen door, calling out “Henry! I made your favorite--”

The giggling couple standing in the doorway to her bakery glance at her in confusion when she stops dead in the middle of the room.

“What do you want?” Regina snaps, already trying to hide the plate behind herself, as if they were going to try to take it from her.

Gwen hustles over from the cash register and puts a hand on Regina’s elbow, steering her away from the front counter. “Welcome to _The Mill_! Grab a seat wherever, I’ll be with you in a moment!” she yells over her shoulder, even as she manhandles Regina back through the still-swinging kitchen door.

Regina tugs her elbow away, sliding the plate back into the warmer and slamming the door as Gwen watches with crossed arms. Pulling out a bowl, she dumps bread dough out of it and onto the floured counter, kneading it vigorously as Gwen leans against the doorjamb, waiting. The silence is oppressive, and finally Regina relents, bracing her arms on the counter and lowering her head.

“Henry’s been avoiding me,” she says, her whisper sounding too loud to her ears, even over the hum of the oven fans.

The silence lasts just long enough for Regina to reconsider the type of bread she’s making - she’s got a rye recipe that she just knows will require extra kneading. Her hands ball into fists at the thought.

Gwen finally pushes away from the doorjamb and nudges Regina aside with her hip, scooping the dough back into the bowl and sliding it back in the proofing oven before turning to face her. “Go home,” she says.

Regina glares at her. “I think you may have forgotten who owns this bakery,” she says, but Gwen is already steering her over to the sink, turning on the warm water. “ _And_ who signs your paychecks,” she grumbles, but sticks her hands under the water anyway, scraping dough off her palms with the edge of her nails.

“Go home,” Gwen repeats, “because you’re going to be useless here if all you’re doing is worrying about Henry. I’ll close up.” Regina would be offended if it weren’t true, and if she weren’t so glad to have found someone like Gwen who understands her.

Perhaps a little too well, she reflects as Gwen bundles her into her coat and sends her out the door into the cold March wind, already urging customers to pack up before the door even closes behind her. Certainly no one else would dare touch her like that.

She tries not to linger on how lonely a thought that is.

By the time she reaches their home, she is shivering from cold and the fear that has gripped her heart since the first day she brought Henry home. Half convinced that the house will be cold and abandoned, she quickens her steps when she sees a light on in Henry’s window. Leaving her boots and coat by the door, she hastens up the steps to the top floor.

Outside his closed door, she pauses. It always used to be open to her, she thinks, her fingernail tracing the edge of the ‘Henry’s Magical Wonderland’ sign they’d made for his sixth birthday.

Henry had wanted to make the perfect blanket fort for his friends to hang out in during his birthday party, and Regina had spent hours with him fluffing pillows and constructing blanket ceilings before he had declared it done. The handwriting is crooked and smears of glitter glue obscure a few of the letters, but the grin on Henry’s face when he’d affixed the sign to the front door of his fort had been worth every fleck of glitter Regina had found in her hair for weeks after.

Holding tight to that thought, she knocks, once, then twice when there’s no answer, and the force of her hand makes the door creak back on its hinges. The room is still silent, and Regina pushes the door open the rest of the way in a sudden panic, stopping short at the sight of Henry, peacefully asleep on top of his covers, one shoe on and book propped open on his chest.

She smiles at him, her precious boy, and bends down to smooth back the hair on his forehead. It feels like forever since the last time he wanted her to read him a bedtime story, and too long now since he shared his thoughts about the books he was reading.

Uneasy again, she straightens up and moves to his desk. If he’s finished his homework already, she may as well tidy everything up for tomorrow before the mad rush of morning preparations. Rifling through the chaotic mess of papers in search of his assignment book, a familiar stamp catches her eye and she freezes, ice crystallizing in her veins as she unearths the rest of the adoption decree she thought she’d safely kept hidden in her home office.

“That’s right.” Henry’s voice is soft from sleep, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that she wishes she didn’t recognize from her own gaze in the mirror. He’s propped up on his elbows, book sliding off his chest and onto the floor, forgotten. “I know you’re not my _real_ mom.”

All the air leaves Regina’s lungs. She’s been dreading this day, it feels, since the moment Henry entered her life. Still, the pain that comes slicing through her at his words is nothing she could have ever prepared for.

She clutches the paperwork to her chest, mouth pressed into a thin line of hurt and anguish. “Henry,” she tries, hearing the form crumple under one compulsively clenching fist, “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Henry rolls his eyes and swings his legs over the edge of his bed. “You mean you didn’t want me to find out at _all_ ,” he says. “Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to lie to me for the rest of my life?”

Regina gasps out, “Henry, _no_ , that’s not-” but he’s already pushing himself up, out, away from Regina, his feet thumping ungracefully on the floor and thundering down the stairs. A few seconds later she hears him start up one of his favorite video games, and she knows that if she goes down to talk to him, he’ll have his headphones in and the volume turned up too high, just like he had every other day that week.

She finally uncurls her fingers from the edge of the adoption decree, trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles back out, breathing in harshly through her nose and willing the tears not to come.

Mother had never liked it when she cried.

Setting the decree safely on Henry’s bookshelf, she busies herself organizing Henry’s desk. Her fingers are numb, barely registering the feeling of the book spines beneath them, and almost forgets to double-check his assignment notebook for any projects he’s forgotten, digging it back out of the bottom of his backpack with shaking hands.

Satisfied that his schooling, at least, won’t suffer, she takes the certificate into her office and sits behind her desk, palms flat against against the cool surface.

When they finally stop shaking, she picks up her phone, and dials a number from memory.

“Marian?” she says, dragging her finger down the form until she reaches **Place of Birth: Phoenix, AZ**. “I need you to find someone for me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dawn had always been young Regina’s favorite time of day. That early, with only the morning birds for company, and the house reassuring in its stillness, she could do exactly as she pleased. And usually what pleased young Regina, in these hours that were all her own, was _baking_.

It was not a skill her mother appreciated, believing it to be mere manual labor, far below the station in life she had manipulated so many people to attain. Thus, Regina had to beg her father for lessons when Cora was away.

They would spend long hours rolling out sheets of pastry for quesitos, or kneading dough for sweet rolls until their wrists ached, the house warmed by the oven and the delicious smells it produced.

In the cold light of those false dawns, fingers sticky with dough and laughing at the flour smeared across her father’s cheek, young Regina often felt as if she were baking pure happiness into everything she touched.

 

* * *

 

 

On this morning, not even those golden-tinged memories could ease the knot in Regina’s stomach as she sifted flour into one of Henry’s favorite brownie mixes, trying not to think of the uneaten pastries he’d left at the dinner table every night that week.

A sudden pounding echoes from the front of the house and Regina startles, spilling flour across the countertop and onto her dress, and she wipes it off with trembling hands as she goes to answer the door.

Cold air swirls in through the open door as Marian stomps the snow off her boots on the mat, shivering dramatically as she enters the warmth of the mansion. “It’s cold as a witch’s _tit_ out there,” she says, rubbing her hands together briskly. “No offense meant, of course. I’m sure yours are perfectly warm.”

Regina flushes, casting her eye to the stairs. “Would you keep it quiet? Henry’s asleep and I’d like to keep it that way, especially if we’re going to be talking about…”

“About your witchiness?” Marian rolls her eyes. “Yes, all right, fine, but remember I came out here, _in a snowstorm_ , mind you, to do you a favor. Now move, you’re standing between me and the baked goods.”

Regina steps aside and Marian beelines to the kitchen, Regina trailing after her. “You realize I called you here to do your job, right?” Regina asks. “Finding information, tracking down people. It’s kind of in the job description for a private detective.”

“Sure, but normally I’m doing this to make sure justice is served,” Marian says, unwinding the scarf from around her neck and draping it around Regina’s instead. “Not because you suddenly feel the need to find an old girlfriend.” She tosses a glance at Regina over her shoulder, already deep in the refrigerator while Regina silently untangles herself from the scarf and drapes it over a chair instead. Marian pulls an éclair out of Regina’s hidden stash in the crisper and bites into it with relish.

“So,” she manages around a mouthful of pastry and cream, swallowing heavily before she continues, “who are you using those magic fingers on today? And how’d you manage to get a case before I heard about it, anyway? Just who is this woman?”

“She’s Henry’s birth mother."

Regina hands Marian a napkin when a dollop of cream escapes the éclair in her frozen hand to land on her sweater. Marian accepts it wordlessly, and Regina pulls her arms back, bracing them on her stomach as she clasps her elbows. “He found the adoption decree last night.”

“Oh no. Oh no no no.” Marian’s already pushing away from fridge, pacing circles around the kitchen island, éclair forgotten as she gestures wildly with it. “I’m not getting involved in this. Adoption records are _sealed_ , Regina! Besides, why do you even need to know?” She pauses long enough to look Regina in the eye. “He’s your son, and finding the woman who happened to give birth to him isn’t going to change that.”

To Regina’s horror, she can feel tears welling up behind her eyes. “That’s not what Henry seems to believe,” she says, her voice rough.

Marian’s face is all concern now, brow furrowing. “You know that’s not true, right? Henry loves you,” she says, but one look at the stubborn set of Regina’s jaw seems to convince her that her first tactic was better. She huffs. “This is crazy. I never would have found her if I knew this was why you wanted to know.”

“So you _did_ find her,” Regina says, suddenly alert. “Who is she? _Where_ is she?”

“No,” Marian says again. “No no no no.” She’s moving as she says it, retreating toward the door.

“Please.” Her mother would be horrified, Regina thinks, but for once she doesn’t care about the way her lip used to curl as she sneered at Regina’s weakness, because the only thing that matters is-- “It’s for Henry.”

And Marian pauses, face softening just for a moment, dark eyes pinning Regina in place even as her hands quiver where they’re braced on the countertop, gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles whiten and shake. Marian weighs it all carefully, then reaches out a hand to cover one of Regina’s. The warmth of it is startling, more human contact than she’s had in days, and Regina has to force herself not to flinch back from it as Marian says, “I don’t want you to regret this.”

At that, Regina does snatch her hands back, pulling them into fists at her side as she growls, “Either tell me who she is or _leave_ if you’re not going to help.”

Marian, who has known her for too long to be scared of her, who knows how to tell when her gaze is hard because she’s holding back tears, folds her in a hug instead. Regina freezes, still caught in her anger, but Marian squeezes harder and she relents, melting into the hug.

“I’m sorry,” Marian says, and pulls away, not looking Regina in the eye.

She pulls an envelope out of the back pocket of her jeans. “You’ll find what you’re looking for,” she says, laying it on the counter in front of Regina. “I just hope you’re ready for it when you do.” She squeezes her shoulder once and then she’s gone, the cold breeze that wafts through the door in her wake making Regina shiver.

Regina opens the envelope with shaking hands, a sheaf of papers sliding out onto the counter in front of her. Arrest records, bank statements, rental agreements, and… Regina gasps, sliding out a piece of paper that is all too familiar to her now. A death certificate, dated from the day before, _Cause of Death: asphyxiation_ printed across it in stark black letters, and suddenly all she can think about is Henry going to look for his birth mother and finding a corpse instead, and as much as she doesn’t want him to find a reason to leave her, she never wanted it like this.

It is that sick sensation of relief and guilt pooling together in the pit of her stomach that carries her across state lines, Henry safely in Marian’s care, and into the sterile lobby of a county hospital somewhere in Massachusetts, but her courage deserts her just outside the sliding doors, leaving her cold and shaken, her fingers alternately crumpling and smoothing a torn corner of paper with two words written on it:

_Emma Swan._


	3. Chapter Two

The second time young Regina ever used her powers, it was at her mother’s behest.

She was thirteen years, one month, twenty-one days, and six hours old, and her mother had just brought her into the county morgue.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Her mother’s tone was all imperiousness, impatient at being made to wait for a lesser being to catch on to the plan.

Young Regina, however, was not paying her mother any attention, a fact she would soon come to regret. Instead, she was focused on the sensations of the room - the sharp, cold tang of stainless steel, the smell of formaldehyde, the ever-present hum of the coolers. It was a lot to take in, almost too much, but for Regina it was still vastly preferable to thinking about what her mother wanted her to do.

Cora had no such qualms. Her magic was different from Regina’s, but no less powerful, and Regina was painfully reminded of that fact when a tendril of magic shot out from her mother’s hand and grabbed her painfully tight around the waist. It dragged her over to one of the morgue drawers and held her there, staring down as Cora pulled it out unceremoniously, her stomach roiling at the pallid tone of the man’s skin, the chill from the refrigeration bringing out goosebumps on her arms. When Regina still didn’t move to get closer to the body, Cora hissed, “ _Touch him,”_ with an emphasizing tug on her magic leash, forcing the air from Regina’s lungs as it pull her even closer _. “Now._ ”

Young Regina, who had already learned the value of a subtle rebellion, looked up at her with beseeching eyes. “But Mother, you always say that I shouldn’t use my gift unless it’s for a good reason. You say people won’t understand.”

“And they won’t, dear,” Cora had said, smiling a sickeningly sweet smile down at her. “Just trust that your mother knows best.”

When Regina still showed no signs of moving toward the dead man, she added in a threatening tone, “You _do_ trust me, don’t you?”

Rather than risk an answer, Regina decided to do what her mother wanted. She reached out her finger and pressed it gently against the man’s bare shoulder, springing back when she felt the spark of magic sizzle up her arm.

The man sat up and gasped in fear upon seeing Cora.

The grin that stretched across Cora’s face was shark-like in its ferocity and lack of warmth, and Regina decided that being somewhere else at that particular moment was an idea with some merit. She stood over by the door, careful to stay in sight of her mother in case she was suddenly needed again, but also knowing that she was invisible until she was either of use or a nuisance.

Her relief was short lived, as soon the approaching click of heels outside the morgue doors startled her from her thoughts. She gasped, rushing over to where the man was frantically writing out what looked like bank account numbers under her mother’s watchful eye. She waited to be acknowledged before speaking, but the footsteps sounded like thunderclaps to her frantic mind, and finally she burst out -

“Mother!” Her voice, breathless with equal parts fear of discovery and of Cora, came out in a hoarse croak, “Someone’s _coming_!”

Cora brushed her off with an impatient, “Be _quiet_ , Regina,” and, before she could try again, there was a sudden gasp and a loud _thunk_ from just outside the doors. Regina darted a hand under her mother’s arm and tapped the man again and he slumped back onto the table, skin returning to its ghastly hue.

The whole incident, from waking the man to panicked reversal, had only taken little more than a minute, but Regina’s heart beat as though she had just finished running a full marathon, adrenaline flooding her veins and leaving her shaking.

Cora turned to her, lips curling her mouth into a snarl. “You insolent child!” she growled through gritted teeth. She brought one hand up, fingers splayed in a familiar pattern. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t string you up and leave you here for the janitor to find tonight.”

Regina fought to calm the nervous shake in her voice before replying. “Someone was coming down the hallway. They could have seen everything. I’m sorry, but I know you don’t want anyone knowing about my power.” She gazed steadily up at her mother, careful not to look too contrite. Cora could sense a false apology from a mile away, if Regina wasn’t careful.

Cora, body suddenly tense, said “Stay here,” and strode over to the door, stepping through with one hand raised, ready to ensure the silence of anyone on the other side.

But what she saw was not a person that could spill their secret - at least, not anymore it wasn’t. What it was, was something that would change Regina’s life forever. Again.  


* * *

 

  
She’s smaller than Regina expected.

It’s not something she thinks she’ll ever get used to, the way bodies seem to shrink without the force of their previous owner’s personality there to give them shape, and Emma Swan is no exception. Her blonde hair is pooled beneath her head on the morgue drawer, brow permanently furrowed even in death, her lips pursed as if upset at an unpleasant dream.

“Emma Swan,” Regina says into the empty room, pulling up a chair to sit down next to the extended drawer. “You sure have caused a lot of trouble in my life, for a dead woman.”

She laughs humorlessly, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes. “Did you know,” she says, “that I had to pretend to be your wife in order to get in here? Your _wife_. When it’s the last thing in the world I would ever want from you.”

She’s addressing Emma directly, hands clenching the sides of the chair, keeping them out of trouble. Her voice is quiet, now, words stumbling from her as if each one were painful to say. “You are taking... my son from me, Miss Swan. Without even knowing. Without even _caring._ How am I supposed to compete with the perfect mother he never got to meet?”

She sighs, suddenly exhausted, wiping a hand across her mouth. Her shoulders sag as she waves at Emma’s face, exhaustion making her motions looser, sloppier. “You have his chin, you know.”

She doesn’t realize she’s reached out to rest a finger on the point of that familiar chin until it’s too late, the golden tendril of her magic sparking out of her almost before she even has the chance to brush the soft skin. She gapes in horror as Emma’s eyes blink once, twice, focusing on the hand hovering over her face, and then-

Regina’s vision starbursts into kaleidoscoping colors as pain radiates from her forehead - Emma has grabbed a lamp from the table next to her drawer and clocked Regina over the head with it. By the time Regina has recovered from the shock and the indignity, Emma is already up and over the edge of the drawer on the other side, running for the exit.

Regina scrambles after her, panic erasing every other thought clean from her mind except _touch her again_ , and she regrets her tight skirt with every step she takes after Emma in her jeans and boots.

Emma slams through the doors of the morgue, startling the poor coroner’s assistant so badly he stumbles into a cart of implements, sending them crashing to the ground in front of Regina. He gapes after Emma, glancing back and forth between her retreating back and Regina, who is now trying to pick her way through the sea of scalpels and other tools. He stutters, “W-wasn’t that-?”

“My wife?” Regina grits out, kicking aside a particularly gruesome-looking set of pliers, “Yes.” She pushes herself over the upturned cart and grunts, “Isn’t it a _miracle_.”

Finally free of the tangle, she rushes around the corner and through the double doors into the parking lot, but Emma is already gone, no trail to be followed. Regina breathes in deeply, counting the seconds in her head, then breathes out when she reaches zero.

She tries not to think of the consequences of the last sixty seconds - there’s nothing she can do about them now. What she needs is to talk to Marian. What she needs is to see her son.

She gets in her car and drives home.  


\----------  


Once home, life continues as though the weight of her actions was not dangling over Regina’s head every moment of the day.

Things go back to normal with Henry - that is, he sits in stubborn silence at the bakery counter, doing his homework and flinching away every time Regina reaches out to him. His suspicious eyes glare up at her when she slides his favorite pastries onto the counter next to his textbooks.

Sometimes he forgets himself, caught up in his studies, and he reaches out a hand absentmindedly to tear off a piece of cinnamon bun or a chunk of muffin. Regina watches from the corner of her eye, fingers gripping the edge of the sink, hoping-- but each time, before it reaches his mouth, he remembers, and he pushes the plate away.

If there are more broken plates in the garbage on those days, Gwen never says a word.

Weeks pass in tense silence. Regina starts seeing Emma Swan’s face everywhere she looks as the story of a bail bondsperson-turned-modern-day Lazarus takes the country by storm. She begins having visions of an enraged Emma Swan showing up in her town, in her bakery, in her home, ready to reveal her secret and ruin her life.  

When Regina starts jumping every time the bells over the bakery door chime, Gwen quietly switches out her morning coffee for decaf. It doesn’t help.

Nothing helps.

The bitter quiet has even invaded her home. Now, Henry no longer takes a seat on one of the kitchen stools while Regina makes breakfast before school. Instead, a red-hot lump of bitter anger settles deep in Regina’s stomach as she rips the newspaper straight down the middle of a photo of a confused-looking Emma Swan in the kitchen while Henry watches TV in the other room, far away from her. It galls Regina, knowing that if she had just left well enough alone, she wouldn’t even have to worry about--

A breaking news bulletin interrupts her thoughts, and she hears the voice of the news anchor say “--medical miracle ‘Sleeping Bounty,’ who authorities have just identified as--” and she’s across the room, snatching the remote out of Henry’s hand before he can blink and punching the power button hard enough to hear the plastic crack beneath her fingers. Henry stares up at her with wide eyes and she forces her fingers to loosen around the remote, dropping it on the couch beside him.

She reaches out to smooth his hair, tweaking his collar into place like she had never intended to do anything different when he flinches away.

“Come on,” she says, false cheer making her voice high and brittle, “enough TV for this morning. It’s time to eat breakfast.”

But even that fragile peace could not last, and by two o’clock that afternoon, Henry would have run away - having given his teacher a note claiming an early pickup for a dentist appointment.

By two fifteen, Regina had yelled at every school administrator she could get her hands on, and Marian is already in her kitchen once more, rubbing soothing circles on Regina’s back and calling up every sheriff’s station in a tri-county area.

And by eight o’clock that evening, Marian is halfway to Boston after discovering Henry had bought a bus ticket with Regina’s credit card, and Regina is sitting in her study, staring at the fire she’d built to ward off the unseasonable cold that seemed to be curling around her heart tighter and tighter as the night wore on.

Her ears had been straining for any sound for so long that, when the she hears the slamming of a car door outside, she almost dismisses it as a fantasy. But then it sounds again, echoing through the house, shattering hours of tense silence, and Regina is up and moving before she even realizes it, flinging open the front door and rushing down the walk because it’s _Henry_ , he’s _home,_ and she gathers up her dear sweet boy in her arms again, too overwhelmed to notice just who has brought him back to her.

Henry wriggles in her grasp and she releases him reluctantly, resting her hands on his shoulders instead.

“Are you okay? Where have you _been_?” She tries to meet his eyes but the stubborn set of his jaw means he’s not planning on looking up from the weeds growing through the paving stones on the walkway. Still, she tries, “What happened?”

Henry twists his shoulders out from under her palms and pushes past her, his muttered “I found my _real_ mom,” leaving Regina frozen in his wake, only now noticing the horribly familiar boots of the person who had brought Henry back to her - a person Regina was hoping she might never have to see again.

Slowly, she drags her eyes up to meet the stunned gaze of Emma Swan.

“ _You’re_ Henry’s mother?” Emma manages to stutter out, looking as though she might heave up her dinner on the pathway at any moment. Her hand comes up in a seemingly unconscious motion to brush the point of her chin where Regina had awoken her mere days before.

Regina, unable to think of a single other thing to say in the face of her entire world crashing to the ground around her, offers Emma a lopsided smile, more a grimace than a grin, and simply says, “Hi.”


	4. Chapter Three

When Regina was a child, meetings were carefully orchestrated for her by her mother. Nannies, tutors, potential playmates - all had to be carefully vetted by Cora to make sure they were all going to be the correct kind of influence on her precious daughter. 

As a result, young Regina never much had to worry about first impressions. Anyone who came into her life already knew exactly what to expect, per her mother’s orders, and nothing Regina could do would change that.

Oh, she had to be polite and courteous, of course - no daughter of Cora’s could do any different without incurring her wrath - but there were never the nervous butterflies of a first meeting, no nerves when pondering the unknown possibilities a new friend could bring. Her whole life was planned out for her, bit by agonizing bit.

And, until her twenty-second year, mere days after her mother’s death, that remained the truth. But on that fateful Tuesday, everything Regina knew about her life thus far changed again.

The night after her mother’s funeral, exhausted from grief, and relief, and guilt over both, Regina came home to her mother’s house to find a red-headed woman sitting in her kitchen, the lid popped off of a container of hazelnut macarons on the counter in front of her, crumbs dusting the front of her emerald-green peacoat. 

“Hello,” the stranger said with a wicked smile, popping the last bite from another macaron into her mouth and brushing her hands off on the upholstered bar stool before extending it to Regina. “It’s wonderful to meet you!”

Regina deftly avoided her, edging her way over to the counter and pushing the macaron container a safe distance away before delicately clasping the outstretched hand. “I wish I could say likewise,” she said, reclaiming her hand after a moment and cradling it with the other, thumb pressing deep into her palm, “but I have absolutely no idea who you are. Or what you’re doing in my house.”

“Well, how dreadfully rude of me. My name is Zelena,” the stranger said, letting out a peal of too-loud laughter as she stood up from the stool. “Oh, my, don’t tell me you haven’t heard of me!” It wasn’t a question - Zelena was already advancing on Regina, delight at her discomfort evident in her sharp smile.

Regina edged further away, fumbling behind herself for the cabinet handle and wondering if she could reach the heavy cast-iron skillet in it before the woman got close enough to touch her.

Her hand had just grasped the handle when the woman’s next words stopped her cold. “I would say it’s odd that mummy dearest never mentioned me, but then again, that’s probably why she abandoned me in the first place.” The woman’s eyes were overbright, a manic edge on her cheerful demeanor as she grabbed Regina’s upper arm. “But isn’t a funeral the perfect time for a family reunion,  _ sister mine _ ?”

“I don’t  _ have _ a sister,” Regina said, chills radiating up her arm, the ghost of bruises left by her mother’s grasp echoing in the painful hold Zelena had on her now, but still she protested. “I’m an only child.”

“Yes, and just bratty enough to be one, too,” Zelena snarled, releasing her arm and stepping back, rolling her eyes. “Is it really so unbelievable to you that Cora may have lied about  _ me _ as well as everything else in your life?” She gave Regina a brief, pitying look before settling back down on the stool, reaching out to pull the macarons back across the counter toward her.

Regina snatched them back, eyes hard. “Let’s say I believe you - which I  _ don’t _ \- anyone who knew Cora could tell you she was a liar. It’s certainly not proof that you’re her daughter.”

No,” Zelena agreed, surprisingly, “but this certainly should be.” 

She twisted her wrist in an agonizingly familiar gesture, and a thin coil of green magic snatched the macaron container out of Regina’s hands and pulled it across the counter. Regina felt her mouth drop as the blood drained from her face, the sudden shift in her worldview making her dizzy, but Zelena only smiled and bit into another macaron with relish.

“Well,” Regina finally said, folding her hands on the counter to disguise the way they shook, “then I suppose the only thing to say is ‘ _ Welcome to the family _ .’”

 

* * *

 

Regina is reminded of this moment now, sixteen years, five months, seven days, and three hours later, when she finds herself staring down one Emma Swan across her kitchen counter. The treats this time are blueberry scones, but the same tense atmosphere permeates the room as Regina clenches her jaw, trying to decide what to say. 

It’s times like these where she wishes she’d been born with a useful power, like the ability to breathe fire. Emma Swan would look good engulfed in flames, she thinks.

“So,” she attempts, rubbing one finger along the edge of her teacup, “how did Henry--”

“Are you some sort of necromancer, or just a weirdo who gets their rocks off hanging around dead bodies?” 

“--find you?” Regina finishes, blinking her eyes at Emma’s outburst, suddenly glad that Henry is safely ensconced in his room after being grounded for the foreseeable future. Emma gazes back at her steadily, shoulders hunched, fingers methodically shredding the scone on the plate in front of her, not eating a bite. The stubborn set of her mouth says that she’s not planning on answering Regina’s question, or taking back her own.

Regina sighs. “Well, I am  _ certainly _ not any kind of ‘weirdo that hangs around morgues,’ and frankly I don’t want to know what sort of people you’re hanging around with that made that one of your first guesses.” She feels her lips twist into a painfully familiar dismissive sneer and grinds her teeth together to drive her mother from her mind.

“So you  _ are  _ a necromancer, then?” Emma says, eyeing her hand warily as Regina reaches up to push her hair back. For a single, petty moment, Regina considers scaring her with a quick lunge forward, but the thought of having to hide Emma’s dead body from Henry makes her reconsider.

“Oh yes, because  _ necromancers _ are definitely real. I can see your GED didn’t go to waste,” she says instead. Sarcasm has always been her weapon of choice, anyway.

Emma’s face hardens, and for a moment Regina considers taking it back, but - no. This woman could reveal her secret, take her son away from her. She deserves no such consideration from Regina.

“Prove it,” Emma says, jaw thrust stubbornly forward. 

“Prove  _ what _ , exactly?” Regina counters. “Prove I can’t raise the dead? How can you prove a negative? I may as well ask you to prove that you don’t know how to abandon a child.”

The bar stool clatters to the ground as Emma pushes herself violently to her feet, shoving away from the counter, away from Regina. She stands, shaking, with clenched fists in the middle of Regina’s too-clean kitchen. The red of her jacket stands out like a bloodstain against white walls. 

“Do you know what it’s like,” she says, arms stiff at her sides, “being dead?”

Regina’s fingers tighten painfully on her cup, but she doesn’t flinch. "I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, no,” she says.

Emma ignores her, eyes boring into the wall over Regina’s shoulder. “It’s like nothing.” She shakes her head, tries again. “Nothing _ ness _ . It’s like I went to sleep and woke up days later, and the world had turned upside down while I was gone. I see my face on the news, now, calling me a miracle. Calling me  _ lucky _ .” 

Emma draws a shuddering sigh, one hand coming up to clutch the opposite elbow. “But the cold that I felt - that wasn’t something I imagined. Wasn’t a coma or a miracle or a medical mystery.”

Emma’s voice wavers, but her eyes lock with Regina’s and she doesn’t hesitate. “It was  _ death. _ ” She raises her chin defiantly. “So don’t try and tell me you didn’t have something to do with this. Be angry at me all you want - God knows I sure as shit wasn’t expecting to meet my son today, or to be saying any of this stuff when I woke up this morning - but don’t  _ lie  _ to me. You owe me that much, at least.” 

Regina nods once, then calmly rises from her own stool, taking her teacup over to the sink and washing it thoroughly. The splashing of the water is deafening in the tense quiet, but the silence even more so as she places the cup on the rack and dries her hands on the kitchen towel. 

Then, between one breath and the next, she’s turning on her heel and marching right up to Emma, standing scant inches from her as she grates out her next words, teeth bared. “Let’s get one thing straight between us, Miss Swan,” she says. “I don’t owe you _anything_. Not an explanation, not my time, and not _my_ _son_.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest, but Regina brings up a finger to quiet her - and almost takes a step back, alarmed at how close she'd come to touching Emma’s lips. Regina shakes her head to clear it. “And don’t think you can turn Henry against me with this. If even a single word of this reaches his ears, I will make sure you never do  _ anything _ again.”

Emma’s eyes drop to the finger hovering inches from her face, and Regina bares her teeth in joy at the fear she sees there. She twists her hand and points to the door. “Now  _ get out of my house. _ You have twenty-four hours to leave town before you find out if your assumption about my skills is correct.”

Emma has gone pale as a ghost, except for two red spots high on her cheeks as she visibly tries to swallow down her fear and rage. “Henry was right,” she finally says, “you  _ are _ evil.”

And with that, she’s gone, the front door slamming after her and her words lingering behind her like smoke, tarnishing the air Regina is having trouble breathing.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to underestimate Emma Swan, but it was not a mistake Regina was planning on making again. Next time, she’d be ready.

But for now, she has something much more important to do. 

 

\----------

 

Henry is sulking. Regina remembers it used to be cuter - a pout when she told him he couldn’t have a pet bear, easily mollified with an afternoon baking teddy bear cookies, or an adorable frown when she cut short his self-taught flying lessons after he climbed the tall bookshelves in the living room. 

Now, though, his hunched shoulders and tight scowl make Regina ache. It’s a reminder that he’s growing up, and growing away from her - a reminder that she doesn’t know how to stop it. 

She eases down onto the bed next to him, but he just huffs and rolls over to face the opposite wall. She stretches out her hand, but hesitates before it can touch him. She knows how much it can hurt to have someone touch you with affection when everything in you wants to hate them, and she won’t do that to her child.

She tangles her fingers in her lap instead.

“Henry,” she says, willing her voice not to shake, “I don’t know how you found Miss Swan, or what you were thinking taking a bus to Massachusetts by yourself, but I know why you did it.”

At that, Henry turns over to look at her, disbelief clear in his eyes. Regina smiles at him, feeling treacherous tears welling up in her own eyes. “It’s true,” she says, “as little as you might believe it. I know how hard it can be, finding out that something you always believed was true wasn’t, after all.”

She reaches out again, but this time Henry spots the movement, and nods slightly before she can pull back. Her chest hitches as she rubs his shoulder gratefully, sliding her hand up to cup his chin. “But Henry,” she says softly, “please don’t ever doubt that I love you.”

At that, he does squirm out of her grip, and she drops her hand with a sigh as he props himself up, cross-legged, on the bed next to her. “You lied to me,” he says, arms tight around his stomach. “Parents who love their kids don’t  _ lie _ to them.”

Regina is suddenly, fiercely glad that Henry never got the chance to meet his grandmother. She rubs the edge of Henry’s blanket in her hand and sighs. “I wish it were that easy.”

Henry jerks his chin up to glare at her, eyes blazing. “It  _ is  _ that easy!” he insists. “You could have told me I was adopted! Could have told me there was a reason I didn’t fit in! Instead you made me think it was all  _ my  _ fault!” 

His face is blotchy and red, hands tightened into fists in his shirt, and Regina is frozen. All this time he had thought-- 

She lets out a choked sob, hand flying up to cover her mouth, but Henry is already running from the room, feet thundering down the stairs and out the front door. She imagines she can feel the echo of it slamming in her very bones. 

 

\----------

 

She can’t find him.

Regina knows her son well. Knows who his friends are, where he likes to hang out, what corners of this town he feels safe in. And now it’s nearing midnight and she can’t find him.

She curses her useless powers again. Why couldn’t she have been born with a knack for finding people, like Marian had? Or, God, even something as insipid as talking to woodland creatures. At least then she wouldn’t have gotten herself into this mess.

She hears footsteps behind her and whirls around, frustration and fear boiling under her skin. “Where’s Henry?” she snarls, and the panicked look on the her poor bakery assistant’s husband’s face would be funny if she weren’t so frantic. 

Thankfully, Lance recovers quickly, and with an apologetic shrug he gestures around them at the darkened storefronts. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says, “but this town doesn’t exactly have a night life. However…” 

Regina doesn’t have  _ time  _ for this, she thinks, and maybe Lance can see the way she grits her teeth, because he points behind her at an illuminated window. “It looks like someone’s still up at Granny’s, doesn’t it?”

She doesn’t even stop to thank him, the bottom of her stomach already dropping out as she spots the telltale hideous yellow monstrosity parked out front that can only mean one person is behind that window. 

Thankfully, small town living has its advantages, and the unlocked front door swings open easily under Regina’s hand. Fully intending to rush into Miss Swan’s room and bundle Henry off home with her, she hesitates as she hears a familiar voice float down the hall.

“--but she  _ lied _ , Emma!”

Regina shrinks against the hallway wall as she creeps closer to the open room door, indignation souring to nausea in her stomach as Henry continues, “It’s not fair! She’s not even my  _ real _ mom, anyway, I bet  _ you _ wouldn’t--” and the pain of his words hits Regina so hard she doesn’t hear what Emma says next.

Neither does Henry, if the way he barrels on is any indication. “Now that you’re here,” he babbles excitedly, “We can do all sorts of family stuff, right?” 

Regina’s heart wrenches in such a way that she wonders if she might be able to hear it break in the silence of the hallway. She lets out a shaky breath and braces herself to enter the room, but two words hold her back.

“Stop it.”

For a moment, Regina thinks she’s been found out, but then Henry says, “Stop what?”

“Stop talking about your mom like she’s not your family, kid.” Emma sounds weary, and if Regina didn’t hate her so much in that moment, she might almost feel sorry for her. 

“I know she’s kind of a hardass,” oh, and now Regina  _ definitely _ doesn’t feel sorry for her, “but she really does love you. It’s easy to see.”

“What do you know about it, anyway?” Henry grumbles.

There’s silence for a long moment, and then Emma says, “I know how much it sucks to realize that someone gave you away before they even knew you.” Her voice is thick, and she clears it awkwardly before continuing. “But I also know you were really, really lucky to get the mom that you did.” 

Henry scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“No, kid, listen to me. I don’t know a lot about your mom, but I already know she loves you more than any family I’ve ever had. And I don’t know why she let you come over here tonight to talk to me, but you gotta at least believe that.”

Henry coughs nervously. “Well, um. You see, the thing is?”

“I didn’t  _ let _ him come over here at all,” Regina interrupts, pushing the door open wide and schooling her face into a blank mask. Emma scrambles up from the bed where she’d been sitting, but Henry just turns his head and glares at her. It’s harder than she thought it’d be to pretend it doesn’t hurt her. 

She beckons at him, “Come on, Henry,” and he rises reluctantly, slouching over to her side. “You have school in the morning, not to mention the fact that you’re grounded for the next ten years.  _ Especially _ after this last stunt.” She fixes her glare on Emma, who looks sheepish and…pitying? 

No. Regina refuses to accept that. “And you,” she says, curling her lip up in a sneer. “I expect you and your rolling car crash of a vehicle to be gone by the time I wake up tomorrow.” The  _ or else _ goes unspoken, but Regina sees Emma’s fists tighten from across the room and feels a thin curl of red-hot joy at her discomfort. 

But then Emma’s stance loosens, and she swaggers toward Regina, hands now stuffed in her back pockets. “Actually, I was thinking of sticking around for a while,” she says, stopping just out of Regina’s reach, but nodding at Henry. “Can’t have this one running off across state lines to find me again, now can we?

Oh, and she’s  _ smug _ now, smirking at Regina’s thunderous expression as Henry bounces on his toes next to her, his grin incandescent. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Regina says, steering Henry toward the door. She can already feel a headache coming on, and the sooner she’s away from Emma Swan, the sooner she can plot all the ways she’s going to make her regret this choice.

“Looking forward to it!” Emma calls down the hallway after them.

Regina doesn’t care what it takes. There is no way she’s letting Emma stay a second longer than she already has.


	5. Chapter Four

“You’re shitting me.”

Almost a week later, and Emma Swan was no closer to being chased out of town than she was that night at Granny’s. In fact, she seemed to be everywhere Regina looked. 

She takes a break mid-day for a grocery run to Hubbard’s Cupboard for more raspberries, and Emma is there, very intent upon examining the barren shelves at the back of the store whenever Regina turns to glare at her.

Walking by Contrary Mary’s flower shop on the way home, a sudden movement through the window catches her eye as both Emma and Mary herself go still at the sight of her. She rolls her eyes in dismissal, but the weight of their stares follows Regina all the way home.

She’s even at Dumpty’s chicken farm when Regina goes to pick up her weekly order of eggs. Emma’s nowhere to be seen, but her hideous yellow car stands out in the parking lot like a sickly parrot in a field of sparrows.

But most frustrating are the times when Emma isn’t even trying to pretend to not follow her. 

At the moment, all Regina is trying to do is look through the oven door to see if her tartlets are done, but a certain obnoxious intruder into her life is leaning up against it, giving her an incredulous look. 

“So,” Emma says, sliding over to block Regina’s view into another one of her ovens. “You’re a private investigator, huh? Miss Prissy Pants herself?” Her eyes scan down Regina’s form, taking in her (admittedly pleated) dress pants before flicking back up to her face. Regina has the sudden urge to smack the smug look off her face. 

“Is that what you’ve been doing all over town?” she asks instead, turning back to the counter. “You really could have spent your time more wisely - everyone knows I work with Marian on some of her cases, even if they don’t know  _ why _ . My… special talents do tend to come in handy in a murder investigation,” she says, and grins as Emma takes an unconscious step back from her. 

Regina flicks one hand at her, more casually than she feels. “Do try not to panic every time you see my hands, will you Miss Swan? Soon even the dull-minded townspeople here will begin to suspect something if you keep it up.”

Emma says, through gritted teeth, “It’s a bit hard to not panic when all I can think about is you touching me.” 

Regina casts a sidelong glance at her at that, and smirks as Emma flushes a dull red. 

“You know what I mean!” Emma bursts out. “If you touch me, I  _ die _ !”

“Yes, and wouldn’t that just be  _ terrible _ ,” Regina drawls as she finally drapes a kitchen towel over Emma’s shoulder and shoves her away from the front of the ovens. “You made me burn my muffins,” she says, scowling in through the window at them. 

“Whatever, I’m sure they’re fine,” Emma says dismissively. “We’re getting off topic anyway - how on earth did a baker become a private investigator, even with your…  _ special _ skillset? Does Henry know?”

“Of course he knows!” Regina says. “Do you think I’d keep something like this from him?”

“Doesn’t seem to have stopped you before,” Emma says, tilting her head at the bowl of withered apples on the counter awaiting Regina’s touch. 

Regina scowls. “ _ That _ is completely different, and you know it,” she says as she slides the muffin pan onto the counter before turning to face Emma, her hands propped on her hips. “How would you like me to bring up the fact that I can wake the dead - in the same conversation where I try to explain why you abandoned him ten years ago? Or do you think I should save that discussion for a special holiday?”

They’re still staring at one another in tense silence when the kitchen door suddenly bangs open, and Regina jumps, nearly sending the tray of muffins to the floor. It evidently startles Emma, too, because, with a motion that could only come from long practice, she slides into a protective stance in front of Regina before Regina can even blink.

Over Emma’s shoulder, Regina can see Marian take in the scene before her with a slow grin. 

“Marian, no!” Regina says, grabbing Emma gingerly by the sleeve of her jacket and pulling her aside so she can point accusingly at Marian. “Don’t you dare make that face. This is all your fault!”

In the periphery of her vision, Regina sees Emma stare at her sleeve where Regina grabbed her, then pat herself down as if checking to make sure she’s all still there. Regina scoffs at the absurdity before turning her attention back to Marian.

Marian, who is leaning against the doorway, one eyebrow raised in the smuggest expression Regina has ever seen on her, says, “If you can explain how you being cuddled up with Blondie McButch over there is my fault, I’ll be happy to bring a fruit basket to the wedding reception.”

Regina can feel her face heating up as she growls through gritted teeth, “‘Blondie McButch,’ as you so eloquently called her, is  _ Emma. Swan _ .”

She would laugh at the way Marian’s face drops when she catches on if the whole situation weren’t so  _ horrifying _ . 

“Emma S--  _ Regina _ ! You told me you found Henry - you didn’t tell me you  _ brought her back _ with him!” Marian makes a strange dipping, twisting motion with her hand that is evidently meant to be shorthand for ‘ _ you brought your son’s dead birth mother back to life with your weird magic, what the hell _ ?’ 

Privately, Regina can’t help but think she has to agree, but she’ll be damned if she lets Marian know that. “It’s not like I  _ meant _ to do it,” she says instead. Her shoulders are tight, and she can feel her teeth grinding against one another. “She hit me with a lamp and ran away before I could touch her again! And besides, if you hadn’t given me the address, I never would have--”

“I thought you might hit  _ me _ with a lamp if I didn’t! And besides, I didn’t even know who she was at the--” 

“ _ She _ is still standing right here,” Emma chimes in, suddenly. She sticks out her hand to Marian, evidently over her brief panic. “Hello! I’m the formerly-dead birth mother - you must be the private investigator who sent Madame Magic Fingers over there after me.”

Marian grins and shakes Emma’s hand enthusiastically. “You know what? I like her,” she says to Regina. 

Regina snorts in disgust. “You just like her because her sense of humor is as bad as yours,” she says. “Well, don’t get too attached, because she’s leaving soon - right, Miss Swan?”

“I don’t know,” Emma says. “I’m kind of starting to like it here. Besides, in the weeks between when you poked me awake and when Henry came to find me, I had at least three different research hospitals after me. Everyone wants to experiment on the medical miracle.” 

Emma shudders dramatically, but there’s a dark shadow behind her eyes. “Can’t say I’m too eager to get back to that. Besides,” and her cocky grin is back again, “I’m a bailbondsperson, you’re private investigators. I’ve got exactly the kind of skills you need around here.”

Regina tears her eyes away from Emma and her  _ ludicrous _ idea just in time to see Marian clap her hands and rub them together in, honestly, an obscene amount of glee.

Regina’s stomach suddenly sends her a reminder that she really should remember exactly how she got roped into this business in the first place. Relying on Marian to make rational decisions over interesting ones is a longshot, at best.

“That settles it, then!” Marian says, ignoring Regina’s bewildered glare in favor of clapping Emma on the back. “Welcome to the team!”

"Marian,” Regina says, with a smile that shows just a few too many teeth to be friendly, “would you mind helping me get something off a shelf in dry storage?” 

Without waiting for an answer, she stalks to the closet at the back of the kitchen, pulling Marian in after her when she follows, and slamming the door.

“Welcome. To. The.  _ Team _ ?” Regina grits out, already trying to massage away the headache she can feel building in her temples. “Are you completely insane? I am trying to get rid of the one woman who can reveal my secret  _ and _ take away my son, and you invite her to join in on our semi-legal team-up?”

“It sounds so much more sinister when you describe it like that.”

“Oh, does it? Well, please, tell me - how should I be describing it?”

“Well, you  _ could _ say ‘Thank you, Marian, for making sure this woman with no reason to keep quiet about my powers stays put for a little while.’ You know, for starters.” 

"...Ah.”

“Yes, ‘ah.’” Marian shakes her head. “I know this is the last thing you want, Regina, but right now, it’s probably our best option. Sooner or later, the novelty will wear off, and Henry will remember who actually raised him, who loved him from the very first time she saw him - and who gave him up.”

Regina feels her eyes well up and vows to blame it on the flour dust in the air if Marian should mention it. She doesn’t, but she does hand Regina a napkin from the back-up dispensers on the shelf behind her. 

“And besides,” Marian continues, “until we can gather some heavy-duty blackmail on her, she may as well be useful. It’s not like we can just kill her, anyway.”

Regina doesn’t even get a word out before Marian looks her dead in the eye and says “Regina,  _ no _ . She’s still on every major news channel as the woman who cheated death. You think it won’t look suspicious if she shows up dead here, hundreds of miles from where she lives?”

Rolling her eyes, Regina says, “I was  _ going _ to say, I already decided not to kill her for Henry’s sake. He already has enough parental trauma as it is.” 

The words taste bitter as she says them.

Suddenly, she’s engulfed in a hug, and Marian’s cheek is resting on top of her head. “I’m so proud of you!” Marian wails dramatically, “My own tiny serial killer, resisting her murderous urges! A landmark day!”

Regina wrestles out of her arms, grumbling “Get off, get  _ off _ !” Once freed, she straightens her shirt with a huff, running a finger through her hair to resettle it. “And you know as well as I do that I’m less than an inch shorter than you, Marian.”

“A very important inch!” Marian counters, draping an arm over Regina’s shoulders. “As my ex-husband will tell you, every inch counts when you don’t have many to spare.”

Regina thinks the alarmed look on Emma’s face when they emerge amid gales of laughter will keep her stocked up in happy thoughts for weeks.

 

\----------

 

Their first case is almost a disaster.

The victim, one Amanda Spratt, was the elderly wife of Jack Spratt, and a sufferer of an extreme form of anemia. She died, supposedly, when she fainted behind the wheel of her station wagon and drove off a cliff.

The coroner’s official report listed her death as an accident, but old Mr. Spratt, bank account fat with earnings from his incredibly successful line of diet supplements, refused to believe it, and offered a hefty reward for anyone who could prove his wife’s death was the result of foul play

Marian, tempted by a high profile case, had brought Regina in to talk to Amanda. Emma, fully taking advantage of her status as ‘part of the team,’ tagged along.

“You know, you really didn’t have to come,” Regina mutters to her as Marian cajoles the coroner into letting them into the morgue. They’re supposed to be here as dietitians this time, Regina thinks. 

“Oh, but I really did,” Emma says, having entirely too much fun smoothing out the lapels on the lab coats Marian pulled out from God-knows-where. “The only person I’ve seen you…  _ wake up _ ,” she mutters, “is me, and that hardly counts. I want to know how you do it.”

“If that’s why you’re here, I wish you good luck,” Regina says, nodding at Marian as she flashes them the all-clear signal. She heads for the swinging morgue door, pushing through it and holding it open before turning back to look Emma in the eye.  “Not even my mother knew how my power works, and believe me, she tried  _ everything _ to find out.” 

Dropping the door on Emma’s confused face, Regina steps up next to Marian by the pulled-out drawer containing Amanda Spratt’s body. 

Regina refuses to think about the last time she was in this same position.

Marian nods down at the forms she’d wheedled out of the coroner’s possession. “Paperwork checks out,” she says. “Bloodwork came back, and her red blood cell count is low enough to account for an anemic fainting spell.” She sighs, closing the folder. “But, her husband believes there’s another explanation, so that’s where you come in. Just remember we only get sixty seconds to talk to her.”

“I know my job,” Regina snaps. “You don’t have to narrate anything for  _ her _ benefit-” she nods at Emma, now hovering on the other side of the table like she’s not sure what to do with herself, back in a morgue again. “Either she’ll catch on, or she won’t. And if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay out of my way while I’m  _ working _ .”

The flourishes she makes with her hands are pure showmanship, but Regina relishes the defiant glare she gets from Emma anyway. 

Then, with one last tap to her watch, she reaches out, and there’s the familiar zap, the flash, and Amanda Spratt bolts upright, skin pinking up rapidly under the harsh morgue lights. 

Regina opens her mouth, but before she can get a single word out, she’s beaten to the punch.

“Welcome back!” Emma says, and Regina jerks her head up to glare at her audacity. Emma ignores her. "It’s a weird feeling, isn’t it? Do you have that tingle in your earlobes, too, or is that just me?” 

Only reminding herself that homicide would cause more problems than it would solve helps Regina reign herself in with a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Miss Swan,” she says, “this is  _ hardly _ the time for your childish questions. If we could focus on the matter at hand?”

“Actually,” Mrs. Spratt pipes up from between them, “I do have those earlobe tingles she’s talking about. Is that relevant?”

“Exactly!” Emma points at her and looks at Regina triumphantly. “See, she gets it.” She reaches out to shake Mrs. Spratt’s hand. “I’m Emma, by the way, and that sour apple is Regina. She’s the reason you’re talking right now, but she’s not a lot of fun otherwise. Marian’s cool, though.”

Marian, at this point, has her nose buried in the toxicology report, and appears to be pretending they don’t exist. Regina wishes she had the same luxury. 

She tries again, “Mrs. Spratt, on the day of your accident-”

“Amanda.”

Regina blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s Amanda, dear, I haven’t been Mrs. Spratt since I was a P.E. teacher!” 

Regina is frantic - a glance at her watch shows that it’s already been nearly forty five seconds. She smiles tightly.

“Amanda, then - do you remember anything strange from the day of your accident?”

"Strange, dear? I suppose you mean other than the man who hijacked me, then. Well-”

But Regina reaches out and taps her on her wrinkled forehead and she slumps, lifeless again, back down on the morgue drawer. 

Emma is aghast. “She just-- a hijacker! Why did you touch her again? She was about to tell us everything!”

“I told you to stay out of the way, Miss Swan!” Regina says, “But no, of course you know best! And now  _ we _ don’t know  _ anything _ !”

“Well, can’t you just,” Emma sputters, waving her hands at Mrs. Spratt’s body, “ _ magic _ her awake again? What the hell, Regina?”

Regina breathes deeply, fighting back against the memories that boil beneath her skin. “That’s not how this works,” she says her voiced measured, calm as she leans over the drawer so Emma can catch every word. “First touch, awake, yes. But the second touch means death, again.  _ Forever. _ That means no last words, no solved case, and no  _ justice  _ for Mrs. Spratt. 

“All. Thanks. To  _ you _ .”

By the end of her speech, Regina is practically hissing her words in Emma's face, staring her down from a dangerously close distance. But this time, Emma doesn't startle back in fear. 

In fact, she's looking at Regina with something resembling pity, a soft cast to her eyes as she contemplates her. 

It's more than Regina can stand right now.

She breaks her gaze and turns and heads for the door, waving at Marian as she goes. “You two have fun with this one. I'll be at the bakery, where I am not surrounded by incompetence.”

As the door swings shut behind her, she catches a last glimpse of Emma, still clasping one of Amanda Spratt’s cold hands in hers.   
  


* * *

 

 

When Regina was sixteen years, eleven months, twenty-three days, and one hour old, her father died. 

It was as peaceful a death as anyone could hope for. Sitting up in his favorite chair for a nap in the afternoon sun, his heart had finally given out in his sleep, leaving him still and smiling for his daughter to find when she came out to wake him with a mug of his favorite tea.

Regina, already too much of an expert at spotting death at her age, set the mug down on the table beside him with trembling hands, which she wiped nervously on her shirt before reaching out and touching her father gently, just once, on the hand.

“Daddy?” she said when he stirred. “You fell asleep. I brought you some tea - it’s there, on the table.” 

She tried to turn away before he saw the tears gathering in her eyes, but he always did know when she was upset.

“Regina,” he said, and reached out to touch her shoulder, frowning when she startled away from him. “Regina, what’s wrong?”

She clasped one hand over her mouth, shoulders hitching. “You  _ died _ ,” she said, voice cracking. 

“Oh mija - no.” His eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head. “Not like this. If it is my time to go, it is my time.” He smiled up at her, “And I don’t want to have to stop from hugging you for the rest of my life because it’s the only way to stay alive.”

Regina let out a broken sob and knelt on the floor by his chair, careful not to touch him. “I don’t know how to do this, Daddy,” she said, digging her fingers into the fabric on the arm of the chair. “I don’t know if I can be who she wants without you to help me.”

“Regina, my wonderful daughter,” he said, grasping her by the shoulders. Her shirt felt like too thin of a barrier to be able to stand between him and death, but still he smiled at her. “You don’t have to be anyone but the wonderful person I know you can be. Don’t let anyone, not even your mother, tell you differently.

“Now come here,” he said, eyes bright with the tears spilling down his cheeks, “and say goodbye.”

Regina nodded. “I love you,” she said, and bent her head forward.

“I love you, Regina. Always remember,” her father said, leaning down and placing a final kiss on her forehead.

The familiar tingle of magic spread its warmth across her forehead, and Henry Mills slumped back in his seat for the final time as his daughter wept by his side, mourning the one person she could trust to love her without reservations.

When Cora came home, hours later, she found Regina kneeling next to her father’s chair, his hand, long gone cold, still held tightly in her own.

 

* * *

 

Hours after the incident with Mrs. Spratt, Regina is nearly alone in the bakery, having sent Gwen home with a box of lemon bars (Lance’s favorite) as her thanks for holding the counter alone while Regina had been away. A few regulars are scattered among the tables, but only those who can brave Regina's temper when she's in a mood like this.

Even Goldilocks had taken one step through the door, declared the atmosphere “Too hostile!”, and fled. 

Fed up with people for the day already, Regina is hiding in the back with her newest dishwasher. Henry has working off the money he owes for the bus ticket he bought on her credit card, and slowly, to Regina’s joy, he’s been opening up to her. He’s just launching into a story about his history teacher falling asleep on her desk - “You should have seen her, mom, she drooled on the textbook, it was  _ so _ gross!” - when the bells above the door jingle. 

Regina’s shoulders tense, but she dutifully dries her hands on a towel, pointing at the pan Henry is holding as she goes. “You missed a spot,” she says, remembering when her father would tease her the same way. But instead of laughing, Henry withdraws, scrubbing harder at the pan with a scowl on his face, and Regina retreats with a sigh.

“You may as well leave now,” she says as she pushes through the kitchen doors, slinging the dish towel over her shoulder. “I’m in no mood to serve coffee or answer stupid questions.”

“Good thing we’re here with answers, then.”

Regina freezes, suddenly grateful that Henry won’t be able to hear them over the running water in the sink. “Miss Swan. Marian. What are you doing here?”

Emma shrugs. “You left before we got all the answers,” she says simply, and pulls a police report out of her back pocket. “Thought you might want to know what we found out.”

Regina grabs the report with a glare, careful not to touch Emma’s hand. She skims through the it once, then again, more thoroughly. “Wait,” she says, “ _ Mr. Spratt _ was behind it? He’s the one who hired us! Is he as much of an idiot as you are?”

“Hey!”

Marian huffs a laugh and says, over Emma’s protest, “It’s actually a pretty classic case - he blew his fortune on risky business ventures and needed a quick way to make money, so he set the whole thing up. Hired a hijacker to off Mrs. Spratt and fatten up his bank account at the same time. Only problem was, the hijacker got thrown free during the crash, and accidents pay out less than homicide.” 

“So he hired us to come to the wrong conclusions,” Regina says. “I take it back, he may actually be  _ more _ of an idiot than Miss Swan. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Laugh all you want, Regina, but Emma’s the one who solved this thing,” Marian says. “After you…  _ figured out _ that Mrs. Spratt had been hijacked, Emma tracked down the guy through Mr. Spratt’s financial records and got a full confession from him in no time.”

Marian nudges Emma with her shoulder when Emma tucks her thumbs into her belt loops. Regina refuses to think about how familiar the awkward curve to her shoulders is as she listens to Marian praise her.

“It’s what I do,” Emma says simply. “And it was nice, I guess,” she shrugs, “helping get justice for someone who needed it.”

“Yes, well.” Regina clears her throat. “I hope you’ve at least learned to stay out of my way when I’m--” she glances back towards the kitchen doors, at the patrons at their table, then hisses, “ _ working _ .”

“Fine, but!” Emma says, and Regina prepares for the worst. More time with Henry? Blackmail for keeping her secret? What could she possibly ask for?

Emma grins. “I get first dibs on the cinnamon rolls.” 


	6. Chapter Five

And so it goes.

Marian talks to the client, does the research, and handles the money. Regina talks to the victim, and tries to keep herself from ‘accidentally’ touching Emma to death every time she opens her mouth. Emma helps track down the killers and, in general, provides supremely unhelpful sarcastic commentary.

There are hiccups, of course. Regina grumbles about being forced to spend time with an uncouth woman-child. Emma starts arguments with Regina at every opportunity, only to startle back when she realizes how close they are standing by the end of it, every time.

Marian loudly contemplates picking up a drinking habit to cope.

But, all in all, it runs like clockwork - except when it really really doesn’t.

 

\----------

 

It’s a sad statement on her life, Regina thinks, that being in a horrendously-decorated funeral home is a step up from the norm. Seafoam green chair rails on peach-patterned wallpaper were not normally a sight for sore eyes, but they _are_ a welcome reprieve from the sterile stainless steel tang of hospital morgues.

Well, they are for Regina, at least.

“This color combo is making me nauseous,” Emma groans, laying an arm over her eyes dramatically. “Didn’t anyone tell this guy that clashing pastels went out of fashion in the 80s?”

“I’m fairly sure Mr. Winkle doesn’t care any more for modern taste than he does for checking police credentials, thankfully,” Marian says. “Now you two go talk to victim while I distract his wife.”

Regina glares at her, but Marian maintains her well-practiced air of innocence. “Fine,” Regina says. “Come with me, Miss Swan.”

“So did you know this guy before he died?” Emma asks, thumping down the hallway after Regina in her hideous boots.

“Are you the reason why Henry is incapable of walking anywhere quietly?” Regina asks. “Try to be at least a little discreet, if that’s not too much to ask from a thug like you.”

“We can’t all be on dainty tiptoes in our fu--” Emma spots the glare Regina shoots at her over her shoulder and swiftly reevaluates, “--fashionably high heels. But seriously - this guy was a baker, so are you. You had to know him, right?”

“If this is how you conduct your investigations, I’m surprised you ever manage to find anyone in the first place.” Regina pushed open the door to the viewing room. “Besides, he baked pies. I bake pastries. We aren’t even in the same business.”

“How different could they possibly be?”

“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear that, for your own safety.”

“Whatever. Just touch the stupid pie-man so we can get out here, would you? I never want to see another seashell lamp as long as I un-live.”

“Your wish is my command,” Regina says, sarcasm thick in her voice. She taps the man in the coffin on the forehead and steps back, out of range of any panicked movements.

You can’t say she doesn’t learn from her mistakes.

“Mr. Horner,” she says, “what do you remember about what happened to you?”

Jack Horner props himself up on his elbow, apparently unconcerned to have found himself in a coffin, and gives Regina a slow glance up and down. He licks his teeth and waggles his eyebrows at her. “I don’t know what happened to _me_ ,” he says, “but baby, did you get the number off the truck full of sexy that hit you? ‘Cause if you didn’t,” he grins lecherously, “I can give you mine, instead.”

Regina suddenly feels the need for a long bath - in a tub of bleach. “Mr. Horner--”

“Please, call me Jack.”

“ _Mister_ Horner,” Regina continues, “we don’t have much time. What do you remember--”

The lid of the coffin suddenly slams down over the man’s leering grin with an ominous _clunk_. Regina stares in horror at Emma, who is standing, frozen, behind the coffin, hand hovering over where the lid had been.

“I didn’t mean to!” Emma says, frantic. “I was just leaning over the lid, but he was so gross and, frankly, rude, and I leaned too hard and--”

“Never mind that _now_ , Emma - just, get this thing back open again!”

Regina’s hands are shaking as she scrabbles at the latch, fingers pulling desperately as each tick of the stopwatch counts them closer to disaster. Emma has pulled something from her pocket and is jimmying it into the seam of the casket lid, prying at the hinges, but she’s going too slowly, no urgency to her actions.

Regina hisses at her, “We only have _twenty-six seconds_ left, hurry up!” She tries to lift up on the lid even as it’s being rocked by blows from the inside as Mr. Horner panics at his confinement.

“What’s this minute deadline all about, anyway?” Emma asks, giving up on the hinges and joining in Regina’s efforts to pull the lid off by brute force. “A minute seems pretty arbitrary, for magic.”

“If he lives past a minute,” Regina huffs, shoving at the casket with all her might, “you could _die_!”

She gives one final heave, and the entire casket goes toppling off its stand, lid cracking open against the mauve shag carpeting and spilling Mr. Horner out at Emma’s feet. With the stopwatch showing just seconds to spare, Regina lunges forward and grabs him around the ankle, letting out a relieved sigh when the zap tingles up her arm.

“Okay,” Emma says from above her, lifting one foot to nudge an arm away from her. She looks down at Regina, eyebrows raised. “You are _definitely_ going to have to explain what in the everloving hell that was all about.”  


* * *

 

 

What in the everloving hell that was all about was this:

When Regina was seventeen years, ten months, eleven days, and five hours old, she had two great loves in her life.

The first was her horse, Rocinante. An unusually indulgent gift from her mother after her father’s death, Rocinante offered Regina the freedom she could not find in the rest of her life. On his back, racing down the trails that snaked through the woods around Storybrooke, Regina could almost pretend that she was free from the life that loomed before her, a life that Cora had plotted out to the finest detail.

Her second love came as a result of her first.

His name was Daniel, and he worked at the stables where Rocinante was kept. With every smile he gave her, and every apple he fed Rocinante, her love for him grew. He was kind, and sweet, and he loved Regina for the free spirit she showed astride Rocinante.

And for all those reasons, Cora could never, ever know that he existed.

 

\----------

 

Cora learned about Daniel a mere two months before the day they had planned to run away together. The first Regina knew of this was when she came to the stable that evening and entered Rocinante’s stall, expecting to see Daniel grooming him, only to find Cora there instead.

“Mother!” Regina said, smile slipping off her face. “What are you doing here?”

“My dear, aren’t you excited to see me?” Cora asked, giving Regina an indulgent smile. “Why don’t you try that again?”

Regina quailed under her look. “Hello, Mother,” she said, more calmly. “I’m sorry, I was surprised to see you here. I thought you hated horses?”

“Oh, I do, dear. I do,” she said, picking her way around Rocinante’s hooves. “But I found myself curious about what could possibly be holding your attention here at the stables for so long each day.” She smiled warmly at Regina, and Regina felt herself shiver. “Imagine my surprise when all I found was the same mangy horse I gave you on a whim, and _this_.”

With a jerk of her arm, Daniel appeared from the corner of the stall, wrapped tightly in those horrible, familiar vines. Regina’s ribs ached in sympathy with the look of pain of his face.

“Let him go!” she yelled, forgetting herself in her panic.

“Well, isn’t _that_ interesting,” Cora said, squeezing her fist even tighter. She laughed at the mangled groan of pain that Daniel let out. “It seems like you care about this boy, but that can’t be right, can it Regina?”

“No!” Regina said, then cleared her throat. “No. Of course not - he’s just a stablehand.”

The grin on Cora’s face only sharpened. “Good,” she said. “Then you won’t mind if I do _this_ , will you?” And with that, she tossed him violently aside, his head striking the boards of the stall with a sickening _crack_ as he landed next to Rocinante, who was still standing unnaturally still.  

Daniel went limp, and Regina felt sick with fear for a moment before her mother’s voice cut in. “Don’t worry, dear. He’s not dead. Not yet, at least.”

Regina rushed to his side and felt his pulse - Cora was right. The rush of relief left her dizzy. She glared up at her mother. “Why would you do this? He didn’t do anything to you!”

“On the contrary,” her mother said, brushing a piece of straw off the bottom of her jacket. “He distracted you, took your attention off things that are important, like your future. I simply couldn’t let it continue.”

She reached down and cupped Regina’s chin, voice syrupy as she said, “You understand, don’t you, dear? It was all for your own good.” She lifted her hand, twisting it sharply as she said, “So you’ll understand why I have to do this, too.”

A squeal and a thump, and Rocinante suddenly lay dead on the floor next to Daniel’s limp body.

Regina screamed.

Cora stood up and brushed her hands together in a dismissive gesture. “I’ll give you a moment to say your goodbyes, Regina, considering you don’t have a reason to come here ever again,” she said, and swept out of the stall.

Regina thought frantically for a moment. If she could bring Rocinante back, Daniel could ride him far away from her. They’d both be safe, even if she could never see them again. As Daniel began to stir, she brushed a finger across Rocinante’s muzzle.

The horse lurched upright, panicked now that he was free from Cora’s control, and Daniel lurched awake, jumping in between the skittish horse and Regina. Regina stumbled back, desperate to keep from touching Rocinante.

After precious seconds, Rocinante finally calmed under Daniel’s sure hands, and he turned to Regina. “Are you okay?” he asked, brushing fingertips over her forehead. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?"

“Hurt me-- Daniel, she hurt _you_! You’re bleeding!” She grasped his hand in hers where it rested on her cheek. “Listen to me- you have to get out of here. Take Rocinante and run as far away from Storybrooke as you can.”

“Regina, no. I’m not leaving you behind,” Daniel said.

“You have to,” she said. She smiled as brightly as she could, but knew it wavered under the weight of her fears. “I’ll be fine. I’ll meet up with you when I can - but until then, I need to know that you’re safe from _her_.”

“Regina, I--”

But Regina would never know what Daniel was about to say, because at the moment, he dropped to the ground, dead, at her feet.

Her whole body went numb, washing hot and cold as she struggled to comprehend what just happened. It had to be-

“Mother!” she yelled, voice hoarse with fear. “Mother, what did you _do_?”

“Oh no, dear,” her mother’s voice floated down the aisle as she stalked into view. “I didn’t do anything. This,” she gestured at the stall again, "was all your doing.”

“But I didn’t touch him - he wasn’t _dead_!”

Cora grabbed Regina’s face, nails digging into her cheeks as she dragged her closer. “So sure you know everything, aren’t you? So sure you can do this without your loving mother’s help?” She released her, suddenly, letting her drop back onto the hay-covered ground, but binding her in vines before she could reach out to Daniel. “You don’t even know the limitations of your own power.”

“What do you mean?” Regina asked.

“Sixty seconds. That’s as long as I allow you to keep anyone awake. Do you know why?”

“You said it was to keep people from asking questions - to help keep my power a secret.”

“Foolish girl,” Cora said. “All magic comes with a price, and yours is steeper than most. The universe doesn’t give gifts like life without payment in kind.”

“So Daniel died… because I woke up Rocinante?”

“Of course he did. A life for a life. You get sixty seconds to make up your mind, but then you have to choose. Allow another to die, or kill him again?” She glanced down at Daniel’s body in the hay. “I guess you made your choice.”

“I can still wake Daniel up! Please,” Regina whispered. “Please. Let me wake him up.”

“And let you plan another escape? I think not. His family will find him here in the morning, victim of a freak heart attack or whatever drivel the coroner will come up with. You will mourn him as is befitting an employee of this family, and we will never speak of him again.”

Cora eyed Rocinante, and a shark’s smile broke over her face. “I’ll allow you to keep your _pet_ ,” she said. “Perhaps not being able to touch it will remind you to listen to your mother more often.”

And with that, she snapped her fingers, and Regina was dragged from the stall before she could even draw enough breath to scream out her rage and despair.  


* * *

 

 

Regina’s Mercedes is parked a safe distance away from the funeral home - out of sight, but close enough to hear that it’s still in an uproar after their abrupt exit.

In contrast, the silence inside the car is oppressive.

After several tense minutes waiting for Marian to circle around the police blockade and make it back to the car, Emma finally clears her throat.

“So, uh,” she says, rubbing her thumb against her palm. “Who died? You know, when I got away?”

Regina flips open the glove compartment, pulling out a newspaper clipping. “Rupert Gold,” she says, “hospital administrator, known for his extreme layoffs and cutbacks to hospital personnel. He was evidently found dead in a supply closet near the morgue, having been engaging in an extramarital affair with a nurse at the time.”

“Is the fact that he was a cheating bastard supposed to make me feel better?” Emma squints. “Because, actually it kind of does. Is that bad?”

“It’s the only thing that keeps me sane when this happens,” Regina says, suddenly too tired to be anything but honest.

Emma falls silent again, fiddling with the stitching on the leather of the door handle.

Suddenly, she looks up. “So… your mom is kind of a piece of work, huh?”

“ _Was_ , thankfully. And is that really all you got from that story?”

“Hey- no. It’s not.” Emma reaches out a hand as if to grab Regina’s, then redirects to her shoulder, giving Regina an awkward pat through her peacoat. “I just. _Shit_. Your _mom_.”

Regina sighs. “Eloquent as ever, aren’t you?”

Emma shrugs. “I never claimed to be great at this stuff, but I know what a shitty home life is like.” She glares when Regina shoots her a look. “Come on,” Emma says, frustrated. “You did enough of a search to figure out where my body was being held - you think I’d believe you if you told me you didn’t already know I was a foster kid?”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyway,” Emma continues. “I’m sorry she treated you like that, and I’m sorry she made you scared of your powers.” She chuckles. “I never thought I’d say this, but they’re actually kind of cool, when I’m not terrified you might make me drop dead at any moment.”

“We’ve been over this - I’m not killing you, Miss Swan,” Regina says. “I’m resigned to your presence. It would be a bit disrupting to kill you now.”

“Do you think you can give that a rest?”

Regina turns to her. “What do you mean?”

“The ‘Miss Swan’ thing.” Emma’s mouth twists in disgust. “I mean, you just told me something really personal, and hell - we share a _son_. Is it too much to ask for you to call me by my name?”

“What next,” Regina says, “friendship bracelets and sleepovers? Are you my BFF now?”

“Nah, let’s take it one step at a time,” Emma laughs. “How about you call me Emma, and I trust that you won’t kill me the next time I say something obnoxious?”

“I’m not sure I can promise that,” Regina says, quirking an eyebrow at her, then sighing. “But I’ll try, I guess.”

“It’s a start,” Emma says.

Regina is still thinking about the beaming smile Emma gives her when Marian climbs in the car minutes later.


	7. Chapter Six

Months pass, and then it’s been more than half a year since Emma showed up on her doorstep, and Regina allows herself to fall into a comfortable rhythm despite herself.

She wakes early each day to make the first batches of scones and muffins for the morning rush, passing Gwen as she arrives to open the store to go home and get Henry ready for school.

Her days are spent in a haze of mixing, baking, icing, and waking the dead by turns. She gets nervous, sometimes, about how natural the the truly absurd nature of her life is beginning to feel, but the smiles she receives when they manage to find justice for someone who needs it make it all worth it.

She resolutely does not think about how sometimes, the smiles she treasures most at the end of a case are Emma’s. That is just because it means another day without her revealing Regina’s secret.

But the best part of this routine is Henry.

Henry, who has slowly opened back up to Regina as she has allowed Emma into his life. Henry, who has begun coming over to the bakery after school, not because of his punishment, but because he wants to learn the recipes his grandfather taught Regina before he died.

And Henry, who has decided that ‘family movie night’ is the best idea since sliced bread.

“Emma’s here!” he yells as the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!”

His feet thunder down the stairs, and Regina sighs as she shakes out another bag of popcorn. _The more things change_ , she thinks. She hears Henry greet Emma and offer to take her coat, though, so maybe all is not lost to nature.

She strides out into the hallway. “I hope you like superhero movies,” she says to Emma, carefully handing her a bowl of popcorn so their hands don’t touch. “I told Henry to make sure he offered you some options, but I think the only choice you’re going to get is between Iron Man and Thor.”

“I’m fine with any,” Emma says, shrugging. “I’m just glad you’ve got regular popcorn. I was afraid you’d only keep, like, fancy organic kettle corn around.”

Henry pipes up from between them, “No way - Mom _loves_ popcorn. Especially the kind you can get at the movie theater with the butter on it!”

Regina can feel the flush creeping up her neck as Emma laughs. “I am _appalled_ , Regina!” she says. “That’s not even real butter! All that hand-made pastry at the bakery is just a front for you being a junk food fiend, isn’t it?”

“You know, I can just as easily take that popcorn back and give you a bowl of broccoli instead, if you like,” Regina says, casually.

“Shutting up!” Emma says, with a wink to Henry. He laughs, and Regina feels the warmth from it seep into her bones.

“Come on,” Henry says, tugging impatiently at Emma’s sleeve. “You gotta come pick the movie so we can get started!”

Later, the lights dim, Emma settled firmly on the side of the couch safely furthest from Regina, and the flashing lights of a climactic robot battle washing over their faces, Regina cards her fingers through Henry’s hair as he snuggles up against her.

This arrangement shouldn’t work, she thinks. There are too many sides to this puzzle, too many ways it can go wrong. Emma is the most dangerous thing she’s ever allowed into her life, but she has settled into it like the space was there for her all along.

But maybe, she thinks, with the smallest glimmer of hope, maybe they can make this work. Maybe, this time, Regina can have what she wants.

 

\----------

 

Because this is Regina’s life, though, it all goes to hell not even two days later.

They’re in the bakery kitchen, she and Emma and Henry. Marian doesn’t have a case, for once, and so she and Henry have decided that it’s high time Emma get some baking lessons, if she’s going to be sticking around.

(“Regina!” Gwen had called in faux delight as the bells over the bakery door announced their arrival. “How nice of you to come visit your own bakery!”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Yes, thank you for selflessly watching the store while I am out solving crimes. You’re a true hero,” she said, but she gave Gwen a gentle hug, regardless.

Emma flashed a wave at Gwen from the other side of the counter, and Gwen gave her a dismissive look. “And what are you here for? We already sold out of cinnamon rolls, so there’s nothing for you here!”

Emma adopted a look of mock indignation and said, “You wound me! I’m here for my baking lessons!” Then, with a grin, she added, “I only _hope_ we’re making cinnamon rolls.”

Regina had laughed and thrown an apron at her while Gwen looked between them with a smug grin. “Enjoy your… _cooking lessons_ , ladies,” she said, and shooed them off to the back.)

The kitchen is warm, and, after a brief scuffle over the relative blasphemy of playing Christmas music before Thanksgiving is even done, Regina won, and she happily hums along to her favorite Christmas album. Scents of vanilla and cinnamon waft over them as Regina gives the cookie dough one more stir, turning to watch Emma attempt to knead her cinnamon roll dough.

“No, no, no,” says Henry. “You have to twist your wrist at the end, see?” He demonstrates, and Regina smiles proudly at his expert technique. “And push from your elbows, not your shoulders. You’re way too stiff.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Emma said, saluting with one sticky hand, and getting dough tangled up in the curls of her hair. “Oh shi-- sugar,” she said, trying to scrape it out with her other hand, but only adding more dough to the problem.

Regina laughs and flicks off the mixer. “Henry,” she says, “would you help Emma sort herself out? I’m going to go find the seasonal cookie cutters.”

“Sort myself out? I’ll sort _you_ out,” Emma roars, and chases after Henry with doughy hands outstretched. He runs, but Emma catches up to him just before he reaches the door, picking him up and holding him out of the way so Regina can escape. “After you, ma’am,” Emma says, sketching out a quick bow while holding a giggling Henry in one arm.

Regina shakes her head, laughing as she pushes through the kitchen door and makes a beeline for the storage closet. She stops suddenly as she hears Gwen arguing with someone out front.

“And I told you, she’s busy!” Gwen says. “I’ll give you a message if you want, but you can’t go back there.”

“Leave a message?” a familiar voice says, and Regina grits her teeth. Of course she would show up now. “I can’t just leave a _message_ for my darling baby sister!”

“Zelena,” Regina says, emerging from the back to rescue Gwen from her wide-eyed confusion. “How wonderful to see you again.”

“Sister dear! Why on earth didn’t you tell your charming assistant here that I was coming?” she says, with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes.

“Gwen’s married, Zelena. And I didn’t even know you were coming,” Regina says, logically, but Zelena waves her off.

“Those sorts of details wouldn’t stop a _real_ sister. Now come on, show me what all the giggling’s about in the back room here. I’m dying to know - does Regina have a boyfriend?” Zelena stops and looks closer at Regina’s haircut, and oddly enough, her fingernails. “Or a girlfriend?” she asks with a leer.

“What I have or don’t have is none of your business, Zelena. What are you doing here?”

“A girl can’t come visit her sister after, what, ten years for no reason?”

The patrons in the bakery are beginning to stare, so Regina hustles Zelena off toward the back of the bakery. “It’s been twelve, actually, but fine,” she relents, “I won’t ask. A lot has changed since you were here last, though - it’s been hard to keep up with you when you send postcards from a different place every month.”

“The trials of the traveler, Regina,” Zelena says, “but I forgive you. You’ll just have to catch me up on everything now.”

“Well,” Regina says, “I have a son.”

“A son!” Zelena crows, clapping her hands. “Marvelous. When can I meet the little tyke? I can’t wait to spoil him absolutely _rotten_.”

“Henry is eleven years old.”

“--Ah,” Zelena says. “You weren’t kidding. Well, you really must have taken my advice to heart, then, and soon.”

“By ‘advice’ do you mean when you got day drunk on rosé and told me to, and I quote, “not let our mother fuck me up”?”

“Yes,” Zelena says, nodding sagely. “Exactly. And look - you got busy right away and popped me out a nephew! So - who’s the father?”

Behind her, the kitchen door pops open, and Emma’s head emerges, still slightly doughy. “Hey, Regina,” she says. “I know you’re busy right now, but the kid and I aren’t sure what icing recipe you’re using for these cookies.”

“Royal icing,” Regina says, “Third shelf down, in the pink book. We need green and red.”

“Got it, sorry to interrupt!” she says, waving at Zelena as she retreats back into the kitchen.

Zelena looks like Christmas has come early. “And who is _that_ tasty morsel?” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at Regina.

Regina silently wonders if it’s too soon to take some ibuprofen for the headache she can feel approaching like an oncoming train. “‘That,” she says, resignedly, “is Henry’s other mother.”

 

\----------

 

The whole story comes out over family dinner, an idea Henry had exuberantly offered, delighted by the news that he had an _aunt_ , too!

They’re sticking carefully to the story that he knows - Emma had a miraculous brush with death, and the publicity helped Henry find her - but Regina can see by the way Zelena’s eyes focus on the careful distance between herself and Emma that she knows exactly how Regina met her.

Henry offers to do the dishes in exchange for an agreement that everyone will sit down for a game night after, and Zelena uses the opportunity to pull Regina into the hallway.

“Not here,” Regina hisses, glancing back to where they can still see Emma flicking soapy water at Henry through the doorway in the kitchen. “Come on.” She pulls Zelena into the study down the hall, leaving the door cracked slightly so they can see Henry coming when he’s done.

Zelena sits down on the couch with her hands folded on her knees like she’s a child waiting for a bedtime story. “So?” she says to Regina, “why’d you wake up dead girl over there? Was she just too hot to resist?”

Regina snaps, “Zelena!”

“What?” Zelena says, unrepentant. “She’s a hot piece - and I know you’re not blind to it. Don’t forget, you told me about you and Kathryn back in college.”

Regina can feel the heat of her blush behind her ears. “That is irrelevant,” she says, “since I can’t touch Emma, anyway.”

“So you admit you want to touch her then!”

“I just admitted that I’m keeping someone around who I could kill at any moment - does that not concern you?”

“Not as much as you letting your fears keep you from getting close to people again. I told you before - these powers are a part of you. If you can’t learn to live with them, they’ll destroy you.” Zelena says, and peels back the edge of one of her shirtsleeves to reveal the green stains that blot her skin. They’re larger than Regina remembers. “I should know.”

Regina sighs. “I have been getting better.” She waves a hand. “You heard us talking about Marian at dinner - I’ve been using my powers to help her solve murder cases.”

“Good!” says Zelena. “Now, next up on the agenda: figure out how to make out with your son’s other mother without murdering her stone dead.”

“Oh, is that all? A simple task.”

“I thought so,” Zelena says. “I’m glad you see it my way. Now,” she pulls a withered flower out of her pocket. “I know it’s been a while, but…”

“This parlor trick gets really old, sometimes,” Regina says, sighing. “But if we must, you’re at least buying the replacement plant for the one that dies.”

“Deal!” Zelena cheers, and tosses the dried flower her way. The moment Regina grabs it out of the air, color begins to return to whole plant as the petals plump up, and the stem straightens…

...and a gasp is heard from outside the door.

Regina’s head whips around. “Henry!” she cries, but he’s already pushing away from the wall, running down the hallway and out the front door. It slams after him, letting in a brief flurry of snowflakes.

Emma is standing in the hallway, hands wet. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry, but he just- he said he needed to go to the bathroom. I didn’t think--”

“That’s right, Miss Swan,” Regina grinds out, “you _didn’t_ think. And now _my son_ is out in the snow without a coat, thinking that I’m a witch. Congratulations.”

“Hey,” Emma says, hand reaching for Regina’s cheek, but coming to rest safely on her sleeved upper arm instead. “We’ll find him, okay. That’s what I’m good at, remember?”

Regina nods.

Emma gently pulls the now-perfect flower out of her grasp and drops it into one of the glasses on the counter. “Why don’t you grab his coat and yours,” she says, “and I’ll meet you out at the Bug after I call Marian?

“And you,” she says to Zelena, “Don’t leave. Henry might come back before we find him. Let Marian in so she can coordinate the search, but don’t leave until Henry comes home.”

Zelena nods, and turns to Regina. “Remember what I told you,” she says. “Don’t be scared of who you are. Henry will understand, in time.”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees. “Our kid’s pretty great, and he’s got you to thank for that, Regina. All you have to do is trust he’ll get it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Regina says, and gathers up Henry’s coat and gloves before heading out to the car.

She doesn’t know what she’ll do if they’re not.

 

\----------

 

“Remind me again why we took your death trap of a car!” Regina screeches as the Bug skids down another side street in the rapidly-accumulating snow.

“Because you’re in charge of pointing out where Henry might have gone, which means I have to drive.” Emma twists the steering wheel again and the Bug straightens out from its spin, crunching ice as it cracks over a pothole. “Now, look around - where would have have gone?”

They’re not far from the house, having followed Henry’s footprints in the snow until the new flakes falling had covered them up. Regina looks around frantically, but nothing is familiar, except-

“There!” Rising out of the snow is the hulking mass of the playground castle, a hideous construction that Regina had hated when it was built, but that Henry had loved playing in until he suddenly decided he was too old to go to the park with his mom anymore.

Emma jerks the wheel to the side and the Bug skids to a halt, popping one wheel up on the curb in her haste.

Regina yanks her door open before the car has even stopped moving, stumbling out into the snow. “Henry!” she calls. “Henry!” She clutches his coat to her chest like it’s a lifeline tied to him.

“Mom?”

“Henry!” she and Emma yell together, both of them sprinting toward the castle, where Regina can just make out a tiny figure unfolding itself at the top of the slide.

Before she can make a move, Emma is already leaping up the steps to the top level, leaning down over the parapet to look down at Regina. “Toss me his jacket,” she calls down, and snatches it out of the air when Regina does, bundling Henry into it as quickly as she can.

The ride back to the house is quiet, except for Regina’s commands that Emma “Drive faster!” as she holds a shivering Henry tight to her, willing some of her body heat to warm him up instead.

When they walk in, Zelena and Marian both stand to greet them, and Regina snaps, “Blankets! Grab blankets!” at them as she steers Henry into the living room. Emma beats them to it, rushing to the linen cupboard to pull out every spare duvet and blanket she can carry, hauling them back to the living room and piling them on the floor in front of the couch.

Soon, Henry is cocooned in enough blankets to smother a small elephant, and Emma is starting to look antsy with nothing to do.

“Why don’t you go make some hot cocoa to warm us all up?” Regina suggests, leaning down to smooth the hair off Henry’s forehead, pulling back when he flinches away.

“Actually,” Henry says, wincing, “could you go make it, mom? I kind of want to talk to Emma.”

Regina sucks in a sharp breath, but nods, leaving Henry and Emma alone in the living room and retreating to the kitchen. She finds Marian and Zelena hovering in the entryway, and Marian immediately grabs her and pulls her into a hug.

“I’m glad you found him,” she says, squeezing her tight, “but you tell that kid of yours he’s got to work on his self-preservation instincts, okay?” She pulls back, patting Regina on the shoulder. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?”

Regina nods, and wipes at her cheek to remove the tears gathered there.

“Good,” Marian says. “Now I’m going to take this one,” she jerks a thumb at Zelena, “who I can already tell is a troublemaker, out for some coffee so I can get some blackmail material on you.”

Regina chuckles as Zelena gives her a double thumbs-up behind Marian’s back. “I saw that!” Marian says, and Regina suddenly gets the ominous feeling that introducing these two was a mistake.

Once they’re gone, it’s a matter of minutes to make a batch of hot cocoa just the way Henry likes it. Going through the motions of heating the milk and melting the chocolate soothes her, and by the time she sprinkles the cinnamon on top and carries the mugs out to the living room, her hands have stopped shaking.

She stops just around the corner when she hears Henry’s voice say, “But she lied again!”

“Henry,” Emma says, and her voice sounds tired. “You know as well as I do that no one tells the truth all the time. You have to stop thinking that your mom is lying to you for bad reasons.”

“But this is a big thing, Emma!” he says. “How could she keep lying this whole time? I thought she was done keeping secrets from me.” Regina can hear the pout in his voice.

Emma hesitates, and rustling noises mean she’s fluffing the covers around Henry while she thinks. Finally, she says, “It’s like a superpower.”

“What do you mean?” Henry says.

“That’s why she couldn’t tell you, Henry. It’s like- you know how no one can know who Spider-Man is? He keeps it a secret from everyone he loves, even his aunt, because he knows if they learn about his powers, they could be in danger.”

“And that’s what mom thinks? That’s stupid. There aren’t any supervillains here. It’s _Storybrooke_.”

Emma sighs. “I can’t tell you a lot, kid, because it’s not my story, but let’s just say that Regina learned early on that she can’t tell anyone about her powers. Besides,” and a sudden fit of giggling breaks out as Emma evidently slides a hand under the covers to tickle him, “if she didn’t have them, I wouldn’t be here, and then where would you be?”

“Not! Being! Tickled!” Henry gasps out between laughs before they both settle down, letting out identical sighs.

“All right, I’m gonna go check on your mom, okay?” Emma says. “She’s been making that cocoa for a long time.”

“Okay, ‘ma,” Henry says around a huge yawn.

When Emma comes out into the hallway, she finds Regina there, clutching two mugs of cocoa in one hand, tears streaming unchecked down her face as she clenches her hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing.

Emma holds up one finger, gingerly grabs the mugs, and spirits them away to the living room. When she returns, she’s holding one of the massive duvets, and she folds it gently around Regina before giving her a full-body hug, careful to make sure she’s only grabbing fabric.  
  
Regina leans into it, and cries freely for the first time in years.


	8. Chapter Seven

When she awakens in the morning, it’s to a pounding headache, and a whole new world.

Henry is ecstatic at breakfast. “All right, so,” he says, spreading out a stack of comic books on the table. “It’s a good thing it’s a Saturday, because I got up early to read some of these again. And from what I know, I think we can most likely classify you as a mutant-type superhero. Like Rogue, but backwards.” He nods, satisfied with this comparison.

Regina has not yet had enough coffee for this. Like magic, a cup appears by her elbow, and she squints one eye at Emma.

“You’re welcome,” Emma says, toasting the air with her own mug. Regina grunts and pulls in a long sip of coffee, then stares at the mug.

It’s perfect.

She feels her cheeks heat at the idea that Emma has learned how she takes her coffee, so she clears her throat and addresses Henry instead, pushing that thought to the back of her mind to think about later. Or never.

“Say that again, Henry, please? I don’t think I understand.”

Henry sighs, as if she should understand all of this already. “It’s simple,” he says. “You have a superpower. But you’re not like Superman, or Spider-Man - you can’t fight anybody with it. But!” he says, with a flourish, laying a copy of _The Amazing X-Men_ down in front of her. “You _are_ like a mutant, which means you can work in a team to fight crime!”

Emma chuckles. “What does that make me, Professor X?”

Henry scowls. “No, _Marian’s_ Professor X. She knows _everything_.” Regina files away a note to tease him about the hero worship he’s developing later. “You’re, like, Wolverine, Emma. You chase people down and you can’t die.”

“I’m pretty sure I _can_ die, kid. I just… didn’t. That one time.”

“Close enough,” Henry says, flapping his hand at her. “That’s not the real question, anyway.”

“It’s not?” Regina says, now thoroughly confused.

“No. The real question is - do you want a cure for your superpower?”

Regina blinks. She honestly has never thought about it before, but now the question taunts her. _Would_ she want a cure for her powers? She’d have to buy fresh fruit, if she couldn’t touch it ripe again, and Marian’s cases would be a lot harder to solve. But, on the other hand, she could stand next to Emma without worrying she might kill her. Should could touch Emma. She could _hug_ Emma-

Henry is already rambling on, not noticing that Regina has zoned out a little. “That’s the big fight the mutants have,” he says. “Some of them want to be powerful, and some of them want to be accepted, and some of them don’t want to be mutants anymore.” He frowns down at the book. “I think we’re supposed to root for the ones who want to be accepted the most, but it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

Thankfully, Emma jumps in. “I think it’s hard to tell in real life, too, Henry,” she says. “Why don’t you give your mom some time to think about it?”

Henry nods, shoveling three spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth before shoving his stool away from the counter. “That makes sense. I’m gonna go read some more, but mom, let me know if you want to talk about it, okay?” He grabs up his comic books and throws his arms around Regina in a hug, whispering, “Love you, mom,” in her ear before thundering his way back upstairs.

Emma laughs at the poleaxed look on Regina’s face before pushing a second cup of coffee toward her over the counter.

“I told you you raised a good kid,” she says.

 

\----------

 

Regina’s more awake, fully dressed and caffeinated, when she knocks on Henry’s door later that morning.

“Come in!” he yells from inside, and Regina smiles. His door may not be open, but she’s welcome again.

Henry is splayed out on his bed, piles of comic books avalanching off and onto the floor around him. He grins up at her. “This one’s one of the ones where Rogue found a cure!” He frowns down at it. “But I think it reverses itself in the end, so that’s not ideal.”

Regina gently shifts aside a few of the piles and sits down next to him, brushing the hair back off his forehead. “Henry,” she says, “I’m so glad you’re taking this so well.”

“You’re basically a superhero, mom,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “I know you didn’t want to tell me before because you wanted to keep me safe, like why Peter Parker doesn’t tell his aunt he’s Spider-Man, but mom- I can help!"

Regina smiles, cheeks aching with it. “You’re going to grow up to be a great man someday, Henry,” she says, tugging him into her side for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Ah, mom,” he complains, wriggling out from under her arm, embarrassed. “Emma’s the one who helped me understand anyway.” He tilts his head to look up at her. “Do you like Emma?”

Regina sputters, taken aback. “Of course I-- Emma and I--,” she stops, tries again. “I think of Emma as my friend, Henry, yes,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. She explained the whole ‘no touch’ thing to me, and I thought maybe you might want to be cured so she wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.”

Regina frowns. “Well, I am the reason she might die any day, Henry. I can understand her being scared of me.”

"But she said she’s _not_ scared of you, that’s the point.” He looks confused. “She said you’re the reason she’s alive right now, and that she’s grateful for your superpower.”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s pushing Regina off the bed, shuffling around the in the piles of comic books. “That’s it!” he says. “She _accepts_ you! This changes everything,” he mutters, picking up a few books and discarding them just as quickly.

“Don’t worry mom,” he says, when he notices her moving toward the door, “I’ll find the right book soon, and I’ll tell you all about it. We’ll figure this out, I promise!”

“I know, mijo,” she says, heart full with all the love she’d been tamping down for months. “I believe in you.”

She gives him one last fond look, then closes the door and leaves him to his research. At the very least, she thinks with a smile, Cora would have never thought to research her powers in comic books.

 

\----------

 

“Just tell me what it is, Zelena,” Regina huffs. “I’ve had a weird enough day today without you trying to get on my good side with,” she twists the lid off one jar and takes a sniff, “ _second-rate_ spices.”

Zelena frowns, sitting across from her at one of the bakery tables. “The man at the store said they were top-shelf!” she says, grabbing one of the jars and shaking it. “Lousy cheat.”

“Zelena…”

“All right, fine. I was trying to be a good sister, butter you up before I asked for a favor, but here it is - it’s getting worse.”

Zelena rolls back her sleeve, and Regina can see that the green stain is visibly bigger than it had been before. She reaches out a finger to trace the edge of it and Zelena flinches, rolling her sleeve back down over it.

“I thought it would get better the longer I used my powers,” she says, “and that worked, for a while. That’s why I kept moving around - I would show up in a place, do some magic shows, and get out before anyone could figure out how I was doing it. But lately,” she rubs her arm where the green stain is hiding under her sleeve, “it’s just been growing and growing.”

She looks pained, but Regina is at a loss. “I’m sorry, Zelena, but I’m not an expert with this stuff. Cora only taught me as much as I needed to know to keep me under her thumb. I don’t know how I can help you.”

Zelena shifts awkwardly in her seat. “Well,” she says. “There is one thing you can do that our mother couldn’t.”

Regina feels a chill run down her back. “Zelena, no.”

“Yes, Regina,” she says. “I need you to wake up our mother.”

 

\----------

 

Regina feels like she’s been wrapped in cotton all afternoon by the time she makes it home again. Her senses are fuzzy, and there’s a curious ringing in her ears.

Emma says she’s in shock.

“That makes sense,” Regina says faintly. She closes her eyes. “Zelena asked me to wake up my mother today.”

“Oh,” says Emma.

“Indeed.”

“Well, _shit_.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Regina says, leaning back against the couch. She turns to look at Emma. “Do you think I should do it?”

“It has to be your choice,” Emma says, her gaze holding Regina’s. “Not mine, not Zelena’s. You have to decide if this will make you feel better about her, or worse. But hey-” her hand reaches up to Regina’s cheek as if to brush away the tears there, but she pulls back, fingers clenching into a fist.

She looks away. “Whatever you decide, Henry and I will be there for you, you know that, right?”

Regina nods, but all the can think about is how much she needs a hug from Emma right now.

 

\----------

 

That evening, after Emma has left, and Henry gone to bed, Regina pulls out a bowl of rotten fruit she had been planning to freshen up and turn into treats for Henry.

She dumps the bowl out onto the counter and lets the fuzzy strawberries, withered oranges, and squishy apples roll out on onto the surface.

Then, one by one, focusing on her magic more intently than she ever has before, Regina slowly prods each one back to the peak of health. She nods in satisfaction as each one returns to its shiny hue, soft spots disappearing, flesh ripening.

Regina quickly sets them all back to rotten again then, holding the sensation of that restorative magic in her mind, she closes her eyes and _wills_ her magic to zap the apple before her back to the peak of ripeness.

When she opens her eyes, the apple is just as rotten as it was before, and, with a cry of rage, she grabs it and throws it against the opposite wall.  

 

\---------

 

The next morning, she tracks down Zelena at Marian’s office, where her sister is doing her level best to flirt Marian into losing a game of poker.

“I’ll do it,” Regina says, and Zelena goes still, setting down her cards.

“You’ll do it?” she repeats, faintly, as if she never expected to get what she wanted.  
  
“I’ll do it,” Regina says, “but _only_ if I can ask her a question, too.”


	9. Chapter Eight

Regina’s hands shake as she pulls at the door to the Mills family tomb. Zelena hovers behind her, a shovel slung over her shoulders.

Regina grunts the weight of the heavy stone door. “You could help… you know,” she groans.

Zelena shakes her head. “Uh-uh. I have no interest in touching anything Cora Mills may have put a curse on.” She shudders. “I just want to get in, ask my question, and leave - and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t even want me doing that.”

Regina rolls her eyes, blowing a wisp of hair off her forehead. “Fine,” she says, “But at least help me leverage the lid off her casket.”

Between the two of them, they wedge the end of the shovel into the gap between the stone lid and the base, and with an enormous heave, the lid shifts up, slides over, and then slips off the base entirely, cracking in half on the stone floor of the vault.

Regina freezes, but Zelena shrugs. “It’s not like she was using it anyway,” she says, and she tugs on Regina’s hand. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

And then, there she is. She looks almost the same as the day Regina had first laid her to rest- the sour pinch to her lips had not softened with time. Regina suddenly wonders if Zelena might have been on to something with the curse idea, after all.

She shakes off the sudden chill and nods at Zelena. “All right,” she says, “remember. You get the first thirty seconds, I get the second. Then we get out of here for good.”

Zelena nods. “I’m ready.”

Regina takes one deep breath, then another, then reaches down and brings her nightmare back to life.

Cora sits up, seemingly unsurprised to find herself in a tomb, face to face with her estranged daughters.

“Zelena,” she says, with a sneer. “The family disgrace, come home to roost.”

She turns and spots Regina. “And you - still using your powers for sentimental reasons, I see? I knew you would never amount to much without me.”

“Hello, Mother,” Regina says. “Zelena has a question for you.”

“I’m _riveted_ with excitement, dear. I’m so glad you woke me from my eternal slumber for such an important subject.” Cora turns to Zelena, who appears to have been struck speechless. “Well?” Cora says impatiently. “Out with it!”

“Why is my magic eating me up from the inside out?” Zelena bursts out, rolling up her sleeves as she talks. The vivid green of the stains looks sickly in the pale winter’s light.

“This is what you waste my sixty seconds on? You dithering simpleton,” Cora says, scathingly, ignoring the tense set of Zelena’s jaw. “You’ve used your magic too selfishly, so it’s turning on you. At the rate it’s forming, you’ll have to perform a truly selfless act to reverse it.” She casts a beady eye at Zelena. “Knowing what stock you come from, it will be next to impossible, for you.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Now, Regina, tell me you have a better reason for waking me up than this one does.”

Regina tightens her shoulders, thrusting her chin forward. “Yes, Mother, I do,” she says, and she’s proud that her voice doesn’t waver. “I need to know if there is a cure for my power.”

She expected many things - for Cora to refuse to answer, or even not to know - but she hadn’t expected her to throw her head back and _laugh_. Her mother’s cackles send chills down her spine, and she shivers to dispel them.

“Regina, darling, you should really know better than _that_ ,” Cora says patronizingly, hands gripping the sides of her casket. “This power was gifted to you, and gifts are not meant to be taken back. Oh no, I’m afraid you’re stuck with the magic touch for life.”

Cora’s smile at that declaration makes Regina sick to her stomach.

But only a few seconds remain on the clock, so Regina pushes down her despair as she reaches out to touch Cora again. She can ponder what this revelation means for her and Emma later - right now, her mother needs to go back to where she came from.

But a gloved hand reaches out and grabs her by the wrist, stilling her movement.

“You didn’t think you could send me away again that easily, did you, Regina?” Cora tuts, shoving Regina back and climbing out of the casket. “Oh no, no, no. You woke me up again, you wanted to talk to me. Well, dear,” she spreads her arms, smiling widely, “here I am.”

The timer has just slipped past a minute, but Regina makes one last lunge for her mother as they hear a grunt and a sigh from outside.

Zelena runs to go check. “The groundskeeper,” she reports, with a quaver to her voice. “He’s dead.”

“What a marvelous stroke of luck!” Cora says. “Me, alive again, and I didn’t even have to sacrifice one of my daughters to do it.” She clicks her tongue at Regina’s gasp. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m fairly sure it would have been Zelena, anyway.”

Zelena seems to shrink in upon herself at that. Cora laughs again. “Come along, dears,” she says, sweeping out of the tomb. “We have a lot of work to do.”

 

\---------

 

Cora insists on sitting in the back of the Mercedes.

“Just in case you get a little careless, dear,” she says to Regina. “Can’t have any accidents, now can we? Not after you went to all the trouble of waking me up in the first place.”

“Of course not, Mother,” Regina agrees. “In fact, why don’t you let Zelena drive you home? I can meet up with you there, after I close the bakery, and that way you don’t have to worry about me being clumsy.”

Regina tries frantically to catch Zelena’s eye- if she can just make it to the store where Emma and Henry are waiting, she can warn them, get them out of town- but to no avail.

“A bakery, you say?” Cora asks, eyeing Regina suspiciously. “How… quaint.” She smiles pleasantly, showing a few too many teeth. “I would love to see what you’ve been doing with your time since I’ve been gone, Regina. Why don’t we all go to this bakery you’re so eager to visit?”

“A wonderful idea, Mother,” Regina replies, a heavy weight settling in her gut as she climbs into the car.

 

\----------

 

It’s a little less than an hour to closing time at the bakery when they arrive, and it is, blessedly, almost empty. The few patrons that are still there clear out hastily when Regina walks in with a glassily blank expression.

Even the most hardened regular knows not to mess with Regina when she looks like that.

Cora glances around, barely taking in the building or the decor, instead zeroing in on the well-lit kitchen, trickles of Christmas music making their way out into the main room from beyond the swinging door.

“Where are your employees, Regina?” she says. “Don’t tell me you’re doing so poorly as to have no one to run this place when you’re gone?”

“I’m sure they’re just cleaning up in the kitchen, Mother,” Regina says. “Zelena,” Regina widens her eyes at her sister, “why don’t you get our mother something to _drink_?” She jerks her head over at the coffee dispensers, then says, “I’ll go to the back and make sure they’re cleaning up properly. Give me just a moment.”

She nods at Cora and pushes through the kitchen door, careful to make her motions as natural and unhurried as possible.

“Mom!” Henry called once she came into view. “Look what we made!”

He’s holding up a very blobby gingerbread woman, with black hair and a purple dress on. Emma has a similar one, only hers is wearing a full pinstriped pantsuit. Regina feels tears building behind her eyes for what this evening could have been.

She leans down and grabs Henry by the shoulders. “I’m very glad you’ve been having a good evening with Emma,” she says, “but I need you to listen to me very carefully right now.”

Henry nods seriously, cookie now forgotten in his hand.

“You know how you were saying there are no supervillains in Storybrooke?” Regina glances up to catch Emma’s eye. “Well, there is one now, and I need you to listen to me _very. Carefully._ ”

“Mom, what--”

“I’m sorry, Henry, but there’s no time. There is a woman out in the bakery with your Aunt Zelena who might hurt you very badly. I need you and Emma to leave, right now, so that I know you’re safe. Can you do that for me?”

Henry’s chin is trembling, but he nods. Behind him, Emma is frantically shaking her head.

Regina takes a deep breath. “I know it’s scary,” she says, “but you’re going to be okay. Just go with Emma and get as far away from here as you can.” She hugs him, relishing in the way his tiny body folds into hers one last time. She kisses him on the forehead. “Now go,” she says, and turns to Emma. “You, too.”

“I’m not leaving you here with _her_ ,” Emma says. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you must, because if you and Henry aren’t safe, I have nothing to fight for.”

Emma hitches in a breath, tears threatening to spill over on her cheeks, and nods. “Fight to come back to us, then,” she says. “Promise me.”

That, Regina can do easily. “I promise.”

And finally, with one last look, Emma turns and steers Henry down the back hallway and out the door into the snowy night, and Regina turns back to face her mother, one last time.


	10. Chapter Nine

Before she can push back through the door to the main room, it is ripped off its hinges in front of her, and she’s snatched up and held in front of her mother’s face by those wretched vines again.

“You thought you could get away with lying to me, did you, Regina?” Cora growls. She waves a hand at Zelena, one side of her face now an angry green weal, and scoffs, “So did this one. Now look at her.”

Cora turns back to Regina. “She told me all about your little family,” she says, and Regina shoots a betrayed look at Zelena, who just mouths _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ at her over and over.

Cora twitches her hand, and the vines shake Regina until her teeth rattle. “Well?” Cora says, stilling the vines. “Don’t you want your family to meet your mother? Call them out of hiding, wherever they are.”

“They’re not here,” Regina croaks, grinning through the blood she can feel welling in her mouth from her split lip. “I sent them away.”

“Oh, did you?” Cora says. “Thought that would keep them safe? Thought they’d be able to get away?” The manic edge to her smile sends ice down Regina’s spine. “Not to worry. Young Henry will be easy enough to track down, and so useful as an heir, once we’ve seized back the power in this town. And as for the other- a Miss Swan, was it?”

Regina’s stomach churns. “She’s no one,” she says desperately, “no one at all.”

Cora’s teeth flash bright under the bakery lights. “Oh really?” She says. “Odd, I remember you claiming that once before.” She squeezes her hand into a fist and Regina chokes, air supply suddenly cut off. “I remember it being a _lie_ then, too!”

“Mother, stop!” Zelena suddenly yells from the other side of the room, “She can’t _breathe_.”

Cora sighs in disappointment and waves her hand, letting Regina drop, boneless to the floor. “It really is a pity you missed out on all the lessons I taught Regina as a child,” she says to Zelena, moving further away, out of Regina’s reach as she struggled back to her feet, unsteady. “Well- I suppose we’ll have to start from scratch.”

She gestures sharply at Zelena, and Regina instinctively sucks in a breath as a familiar burst of magic plucks Zelena off her chair and slams her, hard on the ground.

Cora laughs gently and turns to Regina. “Now,” she says. “Where were we?”

Regina is sure, now. There’s no way to defeat Cora- she knows Regina too well for her to be able to surprise her, Zelena is still horribly still where she’s splayed out on the floor, and Emma--

The thought makes Regina stand taller, hands balling into fists at her side. Emma is somewhere safe with Henry, by now, and Regina will fight with everything she has to make sure it stays that way, victory or not.

But it does mean that she is facing her mother alone, feeling as small in her presence as she ever did when she was a child. All the power in the world can’t keep her from remembering how it felt to be under Cora’s control.

Cora’s eyes cast over Regina’s hunched frame as she struggles to stand on shaking legs. Her lip curls in disgust.

“Pathetic,” she says, sweeping a hand almost carelessly through the air, a wave of magic following in its wake that shatters the counter and brings Regina to her knees again.

Cora strides closer, careful to stand just out of reach, twisting her wrist to pull Regina upright, dangling her from vines that have sprouted amidst the wreckage of what used to be Regina’s sanctuary. “I had such high hopes for you, dear. To hold power over life and death, well,” a vine twines its way around Regina’s throat, forcing her head up to look Cora in the eyes as she prowls closer. “You could have been the greatest witch the world has ever seen.”

A sick rage boils up in Regina’s stomach. She’s heard those words so many times, lived them again and again in her nightmares, but she refuses to be held sway by them anymore. She strains against the vines, pulling herself closer to her mother even as the pressure on her neck becomes excruciating. She grins in grim satisfaction as Cora takes a step back, away from Regina’s deadly touch.

“Here’s a secret, _mother_ ,” Regina growls, voice straining as the vines tighten ever further. “I don’t give a _shit_ about what you wanted for me.”

Cora’s voice goes deadly quiet. “Well, then, you _have_ been spending too much time with that low-born Swan woman, haven’t you?” She sighs. “I suppose you leave me no choice, then. I had so hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

Her arms begin moving in complex patterns and darkness swirls around them, condensing until it appears to be draining the color from the very world around it. “I simply can’t let you live if you won’t listen to reason.”

Regina’s heartbeat is pounding in her ears, her focus narrowed to the darkness gathering between her mother’s hands, and she swears she hears the sound of bells chiming over the static hum of power overwhelming her senses.

Regina braces herself, thinks of Henry and Emma, safe and free and far, far away from Cora, and squares her shoulders against her mother’s magic one last time--

But the familiar agony never comes. Instead, a blur of red and gold streaks across her vision and suddenly Emma is there - Emma is _there_ ; Emma is throwing a sad smile at Regina over her stupid, brave, _reckless_ shoulder; Emma is spreading her arms wide and accepting the dark bolt like a gift; Regina screams -

And Emma’s body drops to the ground before her, still as the day Regina met her.

Regina cannot even cry - the black hole of despair she feels growing in the depths of her lets no sound escape but a high keening whine, the sound of her heart breaking in her chest.

Cora looks down at Emma’s body and tsks, shaking out her hands. “Such a waste of power on such an insignificant target,” she laments. “Now,” she says. “Where were we?”

Regina cannot even find the strength to offer a taunt in reply. Head bowed, she waits for the end to come.

Instead, a green-mottled leg in a tattered boot steps into her vision. “We were right about here, I think,” Zelena says, squaring her shoulders as Regina glances up toward her face.

Cora scoffs, “Not _you_ again,” but Zelena stands firm. Cora shoots a spell at her, offhand, but Zelena draws up the energy to reflect it, bracing herself as a shield in front of Regina.

Cora frowns. “Why are you doing this?” She shoots another bolt of magic at Zelena, but she bats it away to land on the linoleum nearby, which promptly starts boiling. “You barely even _know_ her!” Cora shouts, and her next bolt goes wide, the wake of it twisting Zelena’s hair as she stands her ground.

“We may not have grown up together,” Zelena says, grunting as the shield she hastily erects absorbs the power of Cora’s next spell. “But I _do_ know her.

“I know how _kind_ she is,” Zelena yells, throwing a bolt of her own back at Cora, who begins stumbling backward in shock.

“I know how _strong_ she is,” She takes a step forward, gathering magic now with both hands and hurling it at her mother.

“And I know how much _love_ she deserves!” Zelena’s scream only seems to fuel her as she reaches out and uses Cora’s own spell against her, raising Cora into the air with the strength of her magic alone.

Her grip on Cora never falters, but her face twists in agony. “I could have loved you, too, you know?” she says, voice hoarse and barely audible over the hum of her own magic. “If you’d treated me like a daughter, I would have done _anything_ for you. But instead you discarded me, threw me away like I was _nothing_!”

She’s crying now, tears mingling with the blood still flowing sluggishly down her cheek. “That’s fine,” she cries. “Do whatever you want to me. But don’t you dare. Do that. To. _Regina_.”

Zelena squeezes again, and Cora’s face goes slack, her arms dropping, and the magical vines that have been holding Regina up drop to the floor.

She gasps in a deep breath, then another, struggling to her feet and placing her hand on Zelena’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she says. “Zelena. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Some of the anguish bleeds out from Zelena’s face, and she loosens her magical hold on Cora, although she doesn’t drop her entirely. Cora gulps in deep lungfuls of air as the pressure eases from around her ribs.

“You know what has to be done,” Zelena says. “I’m sorry, Regina but it has to be you.”

Regina nods. “I know,” she says, and she walks forward as Zelena slowly lowers Cora to the ground. Regina stops in front of her and reaches out to grasp her by the shoulders. “Goodbye, mother,” she whispers, and with one last kiss on the forehead, her mother goes limp, gone from the world forever.

 

\----------

 

The silence in the bakery is broken only by the shifting of rubble and the deep, shuddering breaths Regina takes as she looks down at Emma’s lifeless body.

She knows that this is the end- there’s no coming back from this. None of her practices have worked, and her mother had no solution. Second touch, dead again. Forever.

But no. This is not how Regina’s story ends. She refuses. It’s not _fair_ , and once, just this once, Regina Mills is going to get what she wants.

So she stretches out a trembling hand, and reaches past what should be possible.

She pulls together all the magic she can feel -  
     the tingle in her fingers when fruit blossoms to life again in her hand,  
          the feeling of cold skin growing warm again under her fingertips,  
               her father’s lips on her forehead just one last time -  
She collects it all in her hands, a golden swirl of magic coalescing and growing as she adds the more mundane magics of her life, too -    
     the sound of Henry’s laughter as he and Emma wrestle their way across the lawn,  
          the color of sunlight through Emma’s hair as it’s tossed in the wind,  
               the warmth of Marian’s smile as she teases her,  
                    the smell of her pastries in the oven,  
                         the freedom she felt on Rocinante’s back,  
                              Henry’s first steps -  
she gathers it all up, extraordinary and mundane magic in double fistfuls, and thrusts it into Emma’s chest.

She’s running purely on instinct and bullheaded determination, now, but the universe has taken so much from her already, and it’s not _right_ that it should take this, too. It’s not right that it should take _Emma_ , who should never again have been as cold and still as she was the day Regina met her, the day she set this all in motion-

And Regina adds her righteous fury to the magic she can feel pouring from her palms, emptying the hot pool of rage and fear and love that has lived at the center of her for so long, and she gives, and she gives, and she gives, until the light pulsing from her hands begins to flicker and die and she slumps, exhausted, onto the linoleum floor of the bakery.

Emma is still cold next to her, the golden glow fading as it soaks into her skin, and no, no, this cannot be how it ends, this can’t -

She sobs, voice catching and broken, and leans over to kiss Emma’s forehead, like her father did for her, like she did for her mother, awash in grief and love, and the spark rushes from her, catching something deep in Emma’s chest, and a maelstrom of tendrils of light sprout forth, enveloping them both in a tornado of magic.

When it clears, Regina blinks the spots from her eyes and sees--

Emma, sitting up from the floor and smiling at her. “So,” she says. “I guess the feeling’s mutual?”

“ _Emma_ , don’t you dare scare me like that--” and Regina has pulled her into a hug, hardly thinking about anything other than the fact that she’s alive, Emma’s _alive_.

And then her cheek grazes soft skin and she freezes, horror clutching her throat, but Emma pulls back, chuckling at the shocked look on Regina’s face. “Guess you fixed a little bit more than you thought you did,” she says, and brushes a finger across Regina’s cheek.

Regina takes a moment to comprehend it all, and then,

She kisses her.

And it feels exactly like magic.

 

\----------

 

“I knew it!” a familiar voice says, and Henry comes sprinting around the ruined wall at the corner of the baker, Marian in tow. “I knew it!” he repeats, fists pumping the air as his mothers break apart. “True love’s kiss!”

“Oh, thank God,” Zelena says, and Regina sees that the green weal is gone from her face- the green stains are gone from her whole body, in fact. “If these two kept kissing, I was gonna have to jump out the window in a minute.”

Regina laughs, and reaches out to sock her in the shoulder. “You’re the one who told me to find a way to kiss her without making her drop dead,” she reminds her, then turns back to Emma, whose smile is almost as incandescent as Regina can feel the one breaking across her own face is.

She leans her forehead against Emma’s as Henry throws his arms around them both, laughing helplessly as Marian pulls a twenty out of her wallet and slaps it down in Zelena’s palm.

“Damn,” Marian says. “I thought they’d take until Christmas at least.”


	11. Epilogue

_Happiness is like those palaces in fairy tales whose gates are guarded by dragons: we must fight in order to conquer it._

_— Alexandre Dumas_

 

* * *

 

It has been one month, six days, and fourteen hours since Regina Mills’ mother died, again, and Regina cannot believe how much her life has changed.

She still uses her powers, sometimes - to find a killer, or freshen fruit for the bakery - but she no longer feels chained to them. She has accepted them as part of her, and has freed herself from their weight in return.

And, no longer burdened by the divide between them, she and Emma found that their happiness multiplied with every passing day.

Emma, who had never had a family, Regina, who had longed for one that would love her, and Henry, a boy now soaked in the magic of of everyday life and love.

They do not live happily ever after, because who could? But they do live, happily.  
  
And that is more than enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [for endings are Where We Begin [fanvid]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805136) by [DitchingNarnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DitchingNarnia/pseuds/DitchingNarnia)




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